


Star Wars: Silk Strands

by Electricboa



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s), Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Electricboa/pseuds/Electricboa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Politics, persuasion, and power-play are that hallmarks of an effective leader. This is a series of interconnected vignettes centered around Chancellor Palpatine / Darth Sidious during the fall of the Republic. Legend Canon compliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Framework

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I've never really written something I intended to publish until now, and even with this I'm not really sure how far I'll go. A friend of mine, Larsdalen, came to me a few days ago wanting to write a story about Operation Durge's Lance. For those of you who don't know (by which I probably mean most), it was a series of attacks carried out by the Confederacy of Independent Systems against the Core worlds of the Galactic Republic during the Clone Wars. For the most part, there really isn't all that much written directly about it, and he asked me to fill in some of the meat of the stories.
> 
> I'm not particularly good with action, which is terribly ironic considering this is meant to follow various battles (i.e. action). But I did rather enjoy writing this, which could pretty easily turn into a vignette. Full disclosure: I am a pretty big huge Palpatine/Sidious fan, so if I do continue, expect him to show up. For people who've read some of the books, you'll notice I make a lot of allusions to them and took a lot of inspiration from them for the personalities of the characters as this is supposed to be able to fit in with canon. For this part, it mostly comes from Yoda: Dark Rendezvous by Sean Stewart, Clone Wars: Wild Space by Karen Miller, Labyrinth of Evil by James Luceno, and Revenge of the Sith by Matthew Stover. I even took a couple lines directly out of them they fit so well.
> 
> Of course, I should also say that I don't own any of the characters, locations, anything really. I just get to play with them. Dance puppets, dance! Muahahaha!

****

 

**Senate Rotunda, Coruscant; 21 BBY**

"The Chair recognizes the senator for the sovereign system of Naboo."

 

The consistent and constant lighting of the chamber served to lull the attendees into a state where the passage of the day outside was minimal to the work they were doing, and this was especially this time, as the session had carried over long into the night. Before the civil war that had been sparked on Geonosis, such a long assembly was unheard of, as the previous body of government was loath to work harder than absolutely necessary to keep their own positions. But that had all changed when the war started, now colloquially dubbed the 'Clone Wars' by political commentators. There was nothing quite like a conflict to keep government bureaucracy meshing like a well-oiled machine, an ironic turn of phrase considering the soldiers utilized by the Separatists in the war.

 

The repulsorpod designated to the Naboo system dethatched itself from the staggered inner curve of the massive spherical evocation chamber. Gliding silently before the Chancellor's podium, Senator Amidala addressed the Senate.

 

"Honored representatives of the Senate, we find ourselves in the most poignant of circumstances any government can find itself. We are embroiled in a conflict that can have no victory, only devastation," she exclaimed as she turned to take in the entire congregation, "We cannot, as the defenders of free democracy, be forced to enforce our laws by fiat. Only though cooperation can the Galaxy begin to heal, and we must be the arbitrators of that lasting peace, as we inadvertently played a role in this by past inaction that has lead to the dissatisfaction found in the systems the Confederacy is drawing from."

 

As with the vast majority of political speeches, this was greeted by an almost schizophrenic reaction. Proponents of change, spearheaded by Senators Mon Mothma and Bail Organa would applaud, while those who had divergent loyalties, even a financial incentive for the war, such as Lott Dod and other Corporate-aligned Senators would voice their restrained, lest they be investigated for said conflicts on interest, condemnation. The majority, though, merely waited, unwillingly to be on record for or against something before they could weigh the value such a position could have on their own political career.

 

"The Bill before us, Resolution 8835, will not help us defuse the situation we find ourselves in. Expanding the mandate of the Coruscant Guard to include other Core Worlds will only serve to antagonize those we wish to make peace with." Amidala continued, "Further militarization of Republic worlds only exacerbate the situation. Please consider that this vote will have a ripple effect in the war, making a conclusion to hostilities more difficult to achieve."

 

Her allotted time over, the delegation pod returned to its nesting spot in the upper echelon of the chamber. When no one else deigned to take the floor, the vote was taken. At the end, the Senate had chosen to expand the authority of the Coruscant Guard to encompass the Core, though the vote ended far closer than the pundits had expected. Political analysis would later credit Amidala for swaying some of the centrists to side against the resolution.

 

With the business of the day concluded, the Chancellor gestured to the Vice Chair to end the session, which the Chagrain quickly did. Despite the late hour, the halls of the Senate would be crowded as Senators, aides, and other functionaries finished up their work and made their way home for what was left of the night.

 

* * *

 

 

Mas Amedda was a worrier. That was not to say he couldn't control himself, or hide his outward appearance from displaying such emotions, but he was honest enough with himself to acknowledge when something caused him stress. Stress was a constant now, what with the war and his high position, that was standard now, but he found it immensely more tenuous when he was alone with Palpatine. The Chancellor had not voiced an opinion during the actual session, though that wasn't uncommon, he already had advocates to do that for him, anonymously. The Pressure Amedda felt now came solely from the silence in the Chancellor's private office. All alone, there was little need to keep up the facade, so the silence was more of volition than necessity.

 

The Chancellor left Amedda's side upon  entering the elaborate office and calmly slipped into his chair, the rustle of fabric against upholstery sounded intolerably loud in comparison to the oppressive hush in the room. Amedda wasn't even sure why Palpatine was reacting like this, he had, after all, gotten what he wanted. The Coruscant Guard would soon be on every Core world, subtly enforcing the idea that the Republic would no longer tolerate dissention. Yet, he felt the need to ask slowly overpower the fear of actually getting an answer.

 

"My lord," Amedda began, "Are you not pleased with the vote?"

 

Palpatine had steepled his fingers on the desk, bony fingers creating a lattice of shadows on the surface of the desk, oddly resembling a silken arachnid web. His wintry blue eyes, so understanding outside the office, latched onto Amedda's own. The Chancellor collapsed the roof of digits as he interlaced his finger and leaned back.

 

"It would seem," Palpatine drawled, "That some members of the Senate have begun to doubt the dedication of the Separatists to their cause, even to the point in deluding themselves to the prospect of an expedient end of hostilities."

 

The chair swiveled around, away from Amedda, to look out upon the gloomy cityscape of Coruscant. While it was clearly night, the sky was irrevocably lit by an untold number of lights. Traffic lanes were ropes of luminosity and the buildings themselves were towers of illumination. Darkness, at least in a physical sense, would never fall of the galactic capital. That wasn't to say that other forms of darkness didn't exist there, they just didn't require the physical realm to operate, and as the singularity of said phenomenon, Palpatine decided that it was time for the Core to be shaken from their complacency. It was time to tinge their disinterest with the war with some healthy fear and what better way to do that than with direct contact?

 

"Leave me, I have a call to make"

 

Amedda didn't need to be told twice, he fled the suddenly chilly office. One did not last long in such positions by failing to jump when ordered.

 

* * *

 

 

**Providence-class Destroyer, _Resplendent_ ; 21 BBY**

 

Count Dooku was old. He could feel it in his bones, long removed from his youthful days as a Jedi they were now aged. True, he wore his 81 years better than most. He could still single-handedly defeat the best fighters in the galaxy, though now that would be more due to experience and technique than raw power, but of what use was physical power when it was so easily turned back on its source? No, Dooku was quite happy with his prowess on both the mystical and physical arenas, but he couldn't deny his age. It was rarely something he thought about, but when he did it was usually when he was kneeled before his master.

 

Darth Sidious seemed to have the innate ability to siphon off strength, even when it was clearly only a psychological effect. Even being an apprentice, the Count knew that. While it was possible to touch someone at great distances, something easily within the grasp of the Dark Lord, it was still an unnecessary expense of energy, and one Dooku would have felt regardless. No, Dooku fully realized that the effect was one purely in his mind, but that did little to help, as knowing what the problem is and knowing how to fix is are two distinctly different things.

 

Still listening as his master outlined the events of the Senate session, Dooku briefly turned his thoughts to the visage before him. Though, on further thought 'visage' may not be entirely appropriate, as it implied seeing something. His master only ever appeared clad in a voluminous cloak, presumably black, though one could never tell with holograms. With everything saturated in cobalt tones, it rendered aesthetics a rather moot point. Face half hidden by a raised hood, the only skin visible was that lower half, as his hands were tucked inside the cloak's substantial sleeves. It was simple and understated, but belied the true being underneath. It was a living embodiment of one of Dooku's first lessons under the tutelage of his master: _What is done in secret has great power_. As Sidious was, perhaps, the most powerful being in the galaxy, controlling two governments like marionettes, secrecy came in the form of anonymity.

 

"It is time to bring the reality of the situation home to the Republic, my friend, complacency cannot be condoned." Sidious concluded, gravelly voice given a tin-like quality from the speakers.

 

"What would you have us do, my lord?" Dooku asked, the Dark Lord never contacted him without an agenda.

 

"Distance breeds apathy, so we shall ensure that even the most secure is anything but." Sidious' contemptuous voice intoned as Dooku noticed an incoming data file pulsing green, "I am sending you various hyperspace routes you will utilize to that effect."

 

"You want a campaign against the Core?" Dooku scanned through the incoming files and was somewhat surprised, it was an incredibly aggressive move, and nigh impossible without the hyperlane routes provided.

 

Sidious' perpetual frown twitched into a facsimile of a sneer, "I want conflict, Count. Conflict to spread the Jedi reserves thin. Conflict to draw the Army into more and more battles. Conflict to impress upon the Republic that this is only the beginning of the war."

 

"Yes, my master, it will be done." Dooku punctuated with a deeper bow, strained joints silently creaking with the effort.

 

"Excellent, keep me appraised." Sidious curtly replied before severing the connection, leaving Dooku alone in his chambers aboard the warship.

 

Dooku rose slowly, still drained from his conversation, though his strength gradually returned. He studied the files provided by his master. An attack on the Core was unprecedented, but that meant nothing to Sidious, only success.

 

* * *

 

 

**Chancellor's Private Office, Coruscant; 21 BBY**

 

Palpatine cut the transmission and stared at the compact holoprojector. It was a work of art, literally crafted by the artisans of the Xi Char. When he had approached the cult of perfectionists years before for the Mechno-Chair Gunray currently possessed, Sidious couldn't help but indulge his artistic sensibilities. He had always liked antiques, but it was a rare treat to have something so aesthetically pleasing be functional and so often used. The lineage of the device, however, was not the subject of Palpatine's musings. Instead he thought of the person so recently displayed over it.

 

Dooku was old and feeble. His fire had long since burned out to a low ember, complacent in his new position and what the future held for him. _Fool_ , Sidious seethed. Dooku couldn't even divine the obvious parallels in their conversation moments ago. _Complacency cannot be condoned, indeed it_ will _not be_. But this wasn't the time to edify his ageing apprentice, no. Dooku was old and feeble, yes, but still useful.

 

Palpatine rose from his, for all intents and purposes, throne and slipped out of his cloak and telekinetically sent it into a hidden recess at the end of his office, followed by the ornate holoprojector. A monster he may have been, but he was neat. A place for everything and everything in its place.

 

Once again in only his robes of office, he walked the expanse of the room to his favorite works of art. Two of the Four Sages of Dwartii graced his inner office, with the latter two as guardians of the entrance. The lighting had been dimmed to the point where everything was cast in crimson from the floor. Sidious made his way to the Neuranium figurine of Sistros. Of all the statues, this held the most sentimentality for him.

 

Palpatine delicately traced a bony finger along the bronzium finish. _Soon_ , he thought to the object nestled inside the effigy's hollowed out core. It was as close to a friend as he had, so long removed now that he only remembered it from sheer willpower. Soon, indeed, but first he would obliterate the Republic and exterminate the Jedi. Sidious didn't care if he razed every planet from Coruscant to Zigoola, he would burn the hope from every denizen of every planet. He would sit in his office and feel the light leave the universe as each Jedi met their inevitable fate, betrayal by their own subordinates. Every exquisite scream, every shattered heart, every bereavement would sow the seeds of darkness.

 

This new offensive is just a stepping stone to the horror that would come to define the so-called 'Clone Wars,' not some last ditched strive to democracy. The Confederacy would die far short of what they wanted to accomplish, but they would succeed in destroying the Republic. When Palpatine was finished he would rule on high, far higher than Chancellor of the Republic or as the de facto head of the Confederacy. He would rule the galaxy as _Emperor_. It was already decided, preordained by the darkness. Everything leading up to it a farce played out to appease the spectators. _The Republic will fall, I have foreseen it_.


	2. Drums of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a galaxy torn apart by war, the architects won't let anyone feel secure. The Core has become apathetic to the plight of the Outter Rim worlds, but that will soon change. After all, how can they ignore a war when they get a front row seat to the action?

**Jelwick, Handooine; 21 BBY**

 

When one fought in a war, the weather is rarely forgiving. Necessity outweighed reprieve in every aspect of it. Jedi General Jorian Pax was a hardliner. He simply had been born to lead soldiers, the quintessential Jedi Guardian. Natural leaders were rare, but unrivaled on the battlefield. Pax had been assigned to protect this vital staging ground for the Republic for this reason. The Council had been confident that its protection was assured. In short, they were wrong.

 

The skeletal ships had arrived in-system just as the first rays of the primary star shone down on the capital city. They were chasing the Republic forces retreating from Jabiim. The Confederacy had all but routed the Republic there and many were presumed dead or lost. In this case, should any under the latter category be found by the Separatists, they soon joined the former. A determined group of clones and Padawans had been able to hold off the mechanical forces at Cobalt Station long enough to grant the rest of the Republic forces a hasty retreat. The Confederacy had been prepared and followed the fleeing ships back to their staging area, not much of a secret when detailed plans had been provided to Count Dooku from his nebulous master.

 

Spindly Recusant destroyers had seemed naught but needles against the backdrop of the sun. The Munificent frigates, however, were the backbone of the mechanical navy and combined they struck the wounded Republic destroyers and transports like razors . Flanked by a pair of Lucrehulk battleships, a lone Providence destroyer, designated Invisible Hand, served as the flotilla's flagship. In less than an hour, the orbital battle was over. The wreckage of former Star Destroyers drifted listlessly, destined to become derelict debris for scrap merchants to swarm like vultures after the fighting was resolved, a few brave (or perhaps foolish) ones had started making their runs before the Separatist ships turned to the planet. The invasion had begun.

 

C-9979 landing craft descended on the helpless planet like moths. The Republic had enough ground forces to put up a struggle, but even a novice tactician knew that there was little hope of repelling the droid army. General Pax knew this, but that was what made him a natural leader of soldiers. He knew that you had to fight for what you believed in, even when you knew it wouldn't change anything. He would fight, and die, if necessary to slow the rot the Separatists wanted to infect into the Republic.

 

* * *

 

 

**Providence-class Destroyer, _Invisible Hand_ , Above Handooine; 21 BBY**

 

General Grievous was, in many ways, a machine. Something that he would deny to his last mechanical breath, but it was true. His former life as Qymaen Jai Sheeial was more like a dream than his past. He had become so much more than that, he had chosen a life of power. Well, not exactly _chosen_ per se. To imply he elected to undergo his metamorphosis into the feared General Grievous implied he actually had a choice in the matter, he did not. He, like so many in the war, was just another puppet unaware of just how deftly he had been strung along. If he ever found out, he'd very likely go down trying to slaughter the very Separatist leaders he served and protected.

 

The planet Kalee had been at war, an ongoing theme in the galaxy, with Huk. The two sentient species ravaged each other, but the Kaleesh had gotten the upper hand in the end and drove the Huk back to their own world and began to conqueror it. The Huk, however, were not ones to accept defeat. They petitioned the Republic, and by extension, the Jedi to intervene. The Kaleesh were quickly driven back to their own world and abandoned. During that war, after the loss of his true love, Qymaen had taken up the name Grievous in his hatred of the Huk.

 

After the war, Grievous was forced to become an enforcer with the InterGalactic Banking Clan to support his people, after all there were always those who didn't want to pay, so why not send such a talented fighter to break a few legs, literally? Grievous secretly despised his glorified grunt work, but the needs of his people came first. By this point, unknown to the Kaleesh warrior, he had gotten the attention of Darth Sidious, and by extension, Count Dooku. The latter, in secret, was instrumental in goading the Huk to vandalize hallowed Kaleesh committal grounds. An enraged Grievous rushed back to resume the war with the Huk, but would never make it in one piece.

 

The Chairman of the InterGalactic Banking Clan, San Hill, the Archduke of Geonosis, Poggle the Lesser, and Count Dooku had decided that the time had come to amend Grievous' position, both figuratively and physically. An ion bomb was planted on Grievous' shuttle, _Martyr_ , he never made it off the planet. That wasn't to say he died, no, the Kaleesh warlord had an uncanny knack for survival, he had only superficial injuries from the crash, easily repaired. The Count decided that he needed to inflict his own tender mercies on the future cyborg, and, my, what fatal complications there were moving him to a trauma care unit. It was practically negligent; a prospective few months in a Bacta tank had been turned into multiple amputations, lacerated lungs, and a mutilated torso, but nothing too fatal. Dooku was pleased with the results. And so Dooku and Hill visited the maimed Kaleesh, very concerned with his continued health. They spoke of Jedi plots to prevent him from helping his planet and innocently mentioned marvelous techniques pioneered by the Geonosians in the field of cybernetics. Fueled by anger, and hate, and pain, the crippled warlord signed away his soul for the chance at revenge on those who wronged him.

 

On Geonosis, Grievous was rebuilt, both physically and mentally. His body became a remnant of ancient Krath war droids, his face a stylized Kaleesh skull, his 'skin' the off-white color of bone. He was molded into the perfect machine with two goals: to kill Jedi and inspire dread in his enemies. The violations didn't stop at the mere flesh, they altered his mind. He had never agreed to it, but Dooku didn't care, his wishes ceased to matter the second Grievous became useful to his master. Large portions of his memory were altered or completely erased. Centers of his brain that controlled rage were distorted to give him a temper he had never previously possessed and knowledge of lightsaber techniques were directly implanted into his cortex. He had ceased to be merely Grievous, but had truly become General Grievous, Supreme Commander of the Droid Armies of the Confederacy of Independent Systems.

 

Now Grievous didn't know how he truly came to be as he was. His altered memories clearly told him he became what he was because he wanted revenge against the Jedi for their actions against Kaleesh. Grievous could no longer remember why he had taken the name he had. When he thought about it, which was rare, he felt a loss he couldn't explain. In fact, the cyborg general no longer had a true range of emotions. There was no room in a droid commander for such excesses like love or sadness, no place for weaknesses like fear and pain, no need for outdated inclinations toward honor or nobility, there was only service to his masters. Grievous didn't dream, the empty periods of stillness between consciousness were like slices of death to the former Kaleesh warlord. Grievous was, in many ways, a machine, and his Sith masters couldn't have been happier.

 

The over-cloak rustled as the General turned to one his is personal MagnaGuards, "Prepare a landing craft, we're going to hunt Jedi."

 

Killing Jedi always helped, there was something instinctual about it. It drove away the emptiness of inaction. It made the nothingness his life had become have meaning in the few seconds he watched the light leave their eyes, there was nothing else like it. It was an addiction that he would now chase across the void for. His life was now defined by the few seconds of living as others died. That was why he collected them, the lightsabers. They were his life made manifest. A corporal existence in metallic form. Maybe if he collected enough he'd feel again, maybe if he collected them all he would gain back what he lost . . . Grievous mentally shook his head, melancholy had no place for a droid commander, either, and he had a planet to level.

 

* * *

 

**Jelwick, Handooine; 21 BBY**

 

The battle was not a short one, it need not be when one side can win by attrition. Droids were the perfect choice for war, if you could afford them. True, they were not nearly effective as a clone trooper on a one-on-one basis, but the Confederacy had an absolute numbers advantage. Hailfire siege tanks raced through the mass line of lowly B1 battle droids raining fire and death on the Republic walkers. Clones scattered, their pearl-white armor marred with grime and ash. This was their last stand. They were, to use the appropriate cliché, surrounded.

 

General Pax was fatigued and wounded. The long battle had taken its toll, after all one could only deflect so many blaster bolts. The injury came from an EG assassin droid, newly minted and shipped to the front lines specifically to deal with Jedi. Pax had prevailed, but carried a dozen lacerations from the encounter. Far from his prime, he was ready to fall defending his troopers. The sound of duranium LX-44 leg crushing a downed clone's helmet sunk his heart; he turned.

 

At well over two meters, the droid commander towered over all but the most gargantuan machines in his army. Pale cape parted, both six-clawed hands gripped a lightsaber, as of yet unlit. Yellow reptilian eyes narrowed to unfathomable slits as the General turned in a ready stance. "Your army is lost, Jedi." Grievous growled, a low guttural sound made tinny by the voice modulator, "Prepare yourself, for the only escape left to you is the afterlife."

 

The right blade extended a vibrant jade while the left an azure. Dichromatic highlights lit the death's head mask as Pax tightened his grip on his own emerald saber. The clash started in a flash of pseudo-motion as Grievous lunged forward and rolled. The clawed leg still gripping the crushed helmet whiplashed over taking the deceased clone with it. Had the Republic soldier still been alive the wet snap of the neck would have meant instant death and decapitation. The ad hoc projectile sailed at Master Pax, who had fallen back in a defensive posture from Grievous' initial movement. He only realized what the vicious cyborg had done after neatly slicking it in two, revulsion temporarily washing over him.

 

The roll carried Grievous much closer to his prey, launching himself off the ground to come at Pax from a downward angle. The Jedi caught both blades on his own and twisted them to the side before stepping under Grievous' guard. Before he could lance through the chest plates, he felt himself yanked aggressively to the side as one of the droid General's legs latched onto his ankle. With the spin provided by the deflection, Grievous whirled, once again to a stop on Pax's defensive blade.

 

"You're tired, Jedi," Grievous sneered, "Why fight the inevitable?"

 

Pax ignored the verbal jab, knowing that his fatigue was rapidly catching up to him. Concentrating through the Force, he pushed Grievous back a meter, only to have the General vault upwards. The attack came identical to the previous one, and so Pax thought nothing of reacting the same, not noting that one of Grievous' arms had split and dropped to his cloak. The Jedi caught the droid General's two blades just like before, leaving no defense for the third blade suddenly piercing though his sternum. The newly ignited blade buried hilt deep in his chest left Pax numb.

 

Grievous' reptilian pupils dilated as they caught the human's own hazel ones. After a second of mutual pause, the latter's began to glaze over. Grievous felt his pulse race, for as long as he stood there, now propping up the corpse he could feel alive. His scarred mind stitched together and he was _free_ \--until he was interrupted.

 

The OOM-series command droid in charge of this area of the battlefield, Grievous never did bother learning their designations, after all they were only droids, stepped up moments after the killing blow and said, "Count Dooku demands you presence."

 

His split second of nirvana shattered, Grievous' first thought were of pure anger. _How dare that soft human dictate to me_ \--followed by a massive migraine as his implants sought raw retribution for his mutinous thoughts about his _Master_. Body on automatic now, he dropped the dead Jedi and kneeled as a life sized replica of the aristocratic Count shimmered into focus.

 

"I understand the assault was successful, General," Dooku droned, as if bored from the conversation he himself initiated, "congratulations."

 

Grievous, now thoroughly chastised from his earlier indiscretion, bowed deeply, an act made more dramatic by his stooped posture.

 

"However, I require your presence for a new offensive we shall be launching in the coming weeks. Leave your droid commanders to finish up the subjugation there and return to your command ship. I will contact you there with further details."

 

"Yes, my lord."

 

The hologram vanished, leaving the General to order the OOM commander to secure the area. Before returning to his transport, Grievous crouched beside the Jedi corpse and clutched the now dirt encrusted lightsaber pommel. Weighing the sacred object in one claw, he felt mildly uneasy with it. It represented not only an interrupted kill, but also his own treasonous thoughts. Grievous resolved that this would become a keep sake only, not one of the sabers he readily utilized, that honor were for "happy" memories. Walking away from the carnage, the former Kaleesh warlord wasn't sure what disturbed him more: the flash of anger he felt for the disruption or the fact that he so readily suppressed the feeling. _It doesn't matter_ , his broken mind told him, _all you need worry about is service to your_ Master.

 

* * *

 

 

**Chancellor's Office, Coruscant; 21 BBY**

 

Seated across from the Caliph of Aydrau V, Palpatine felt as if his face was about to crack. On general principle, he hated to smile, though he was forced to do so often, but even he could only take so much. Admittedly, Palpatine had started the meeting  rather bored, but that was almost a constant when dealing with these petty planetary leaders vying for attention. By the end of the first hour, His Illustriousness had been added to _The List_ , a mental catalog of every being who slighted Palpatine and would be among the first to experience retribution under his eventual Empire.

 

Caliph Denic Juarez, Palpatine quickly found out, had the unwavering ability to bring any subject matter back to its affect on his planet's production of Guarim berries, a sweet pinkish fruit utilized in harvest festivals. At first, this amused Sidious and he decided to see just how pervasive this ability was, but now he was just disturbed by it; it was unnatural. The Jedi? What wonderful work their AgriCorps had done to yearly crop yield. The War? Demand for Guarim had dropped off in recent months due to it. A Venator-class Star Destroyer? The executive launch of the first ship in that line had celebrated with Guarim. The Sith? Did you know that under previous Sith-controlled governments, they had banned the berry? Sidious certainly hadn't, and he was an expert on Sith lore, but he sympathized with those ancient Sith. By the end of the second hour, Sidious resolved to have Dooku _take care_ of His Illustriousness personally, no longer able to wait out the end of the war for vengeance.

 

It wasn't just the grating conversation that bothered Palpatine. Thanks to Dooku's constant updates, he knew that Aydrau V had already pledged their support to the Confederacy, so this entire waste of time was exactly that. Of course, the Chancellor wasn't supposed to have such knowledge, so when the Caliph had requested to speak with Palpatine personally, he had acquiesced, if reluctantly. By the end of the third hour, however, Sidious was seriously weighing the pros and cons of murdering the Caliph himself. _It would be so easy_ , his own silky voice whispered, _an aneurysm, no one would have to know_. For a moment, he pictured the reaction he'd get to conjuring a storm of lightning and electric rage to flatten the source of his wrath, and a genuine smile broke through his facade. But no, he needed Juarez to ensure that Aydrau V was firmly in the Separatist camp. Once firmly entrenched to the Confederacy, then he'd have Dooku design a special torment for the doomed ruler. Right now, however, Sidious realized it was time to conclude this travesty of an appointment before he started to listen to that voice in his head.

 

"As fascinating as the increased volume of Guarim storage over the last decade is, Your Illustriousness, I must beg your forgiveness," Palpatine said as he rose, interrupting the monologue Juarez had been on for the past . . . seven minutes and forty-eight seconds on said subject, "but I do have a rather vital meeting I must attend presently."

 

Juarez's primary and secondary mouths grinned and nodded judiciously, "Of course, Chancellor, I will take your proposal back to Aydrau V for final consideration."

 

The late Caliph, or so Palpatine had already begun thinking of him, rose and nearly made it out of the office before rapidly turning and rushing back to the Chancellor. Palpatine had to consciously will himself not to twitch as he felt the static around his hands tingle, begging to unleash their full electric potential.

 

"It almost escaped my mind, Excellency, this," he said indicating to an innocuously wrapped package that his aide had been holding the entire four-and-a-half hour conference, "is a gift from the people of Aydrau V."

 

Palpatine graciously accepted the box, nearly two feet tall by one foot around the base. The Caliph didn't wait around for the unveiling, but left the Chancellor alone with his newly acquired gift. Setting the box on his desk, he unwrapped it, sensing no danger from within. Once it had been fully revealed, Sidious tried, and failed, to suppress the convulse of his eye. Standing on his desk, in all the glory of the midday sun was a bronzium sculpture, nearly as tall as the box had been, of Denic Juarez himself. The statuette's hands formed a rather deep bowl indentation filled with Guarim berries.

 

Sidious stood there for a full five seconds and took in the gaudy and audacious gift . . . and snapped. The pent up fury found an outlet and flowed like molten lava. His hands curled into bone-white fists; the bronzium bust shattered and the berries boiled in their casings. In only a fraction of a second, there was nothing left larger than a grain of sand. Debris strew across his office and the scalding juice vainly tried to stain the much deeper red-tinged carpet.

 

Palpatine let out a shuddering breath before calmly striding up to the other side of his desk and summoning Mas Amedda. It was indeed true he had another meeting on the docket, though this one was not on the official register. The Chagrain sycophant hurried in just as Palpatine was ready to move to his private office.

 

"Have someone clean this up, would you?" Palpatine practically hummed , "I'm afraid there was a little accident with the Caliph's gift."

 

The Vice Chair didn't even have the time to affirm the order before he was left alone trying to figure out why the ruler of Aydrau V had given the Chancellor of the Republic sand and cooked fruit and why said items were scattered about the room. _It must be a cultural proclivity_ , he decided on the sand, but had no rational explanation for the current location of it strewn about. He didn't think too deeply before calling the custodial staff.

 

Once barricaded in his private sanctuary, at least for the moment, Sidious donned his usual attire and contacted his erstwhile Jedi apprentice.

 

* * *

 

 

**Providence-class Destroyer, _Resplendent_ ; 21 BBY**

 

Count Dooku, rarely known by his alter-ego Darth Tyranus, often found strategy rather tedious. He was, at heart, a politician. True, his time as a Jedi had given him the considered expertise to coordinate a galactic war, much like the one he was currently in, but in reality he was a glorified middleman. His pride would never allow himself to admit such, but it was always in the back of his mind. The overall war directive always came from his master, Sidious could be quite the micromanager when he wanted to be, and Grievous was often the commander on-scene to oversee the battles. There were many other Separatist commanders, yes, but no one better to lead this current campaign, though it would be prudent to cast some obscurity on the situation. Dooku had something in mind for that, actually.

 

The transmission was expected well over an hour ago, but neither Dooku nor Grievous were brazen enough to leave their current positions. _At least he_ , Dooku thought miserably, _doesn't need to worry about leg fatigue_. Already cringing at the expected surge of weakness his master always brought, to go into the conference exhausted would mean a rather painful night for the Count. Just as Dooku had decided to relieve himself by taking his chair, the ghostly image of his master flickered above the secondary holoprojector, relayed directly to Grievous in a conference-style. Sidious immediately turned to face the cyborg.

 

"Report, General, what news from Handooine?" Sidious' rasping voice commanded without explanation for his late arrival, not that anyone dared question him about it.

 

Grievous bowed deeply, much like he had done earlier when Dooku had contacted him and relayed a summary of the damage. A resounding victory, what few Republic ships escaped could only spread news of the devastation.

 

"And General Pax?" Sidious asked in an exacting tone, Jedi deaths were always a priority for the Sith.

 

"Slain, by my hand, Lord Sidious"

 

"And you, Count, have you any progress on the project I gave you?" The Dark Lord abruptly shifted the conversation without preamble. For both Grievous and Dooku this rapidly shifting style of conversation had taken some time to take in stride.

 

"As it so happens, my lord, we have preliminary targets in mind, pending your approval of course."

 

Dooku sent the half dozen battle plans he and Grievous had devised over the past few days along with a tentative title for the operation: Durge's Lance. Sidious, being rather proficient in tactical planning himself, but mostly from the overall perspective of the war, studied the planet files. Excellent targets: Duro, Humbarine, and . . . Alderaan, how delightful. Sidious briefly relished the prospect of Senator Organa losing his physically, if not emotionally, estranged wife. Would it break him? _I'll have Grievous make it a special priority_ , he thought. There was one thing that baffled him, the name.

 

"And why, pray tell, have you elected to title this campaign thusly?" Sidious inquired. He knew of the Gen'Dai, a useful piece, one that proved very durable, but he was still recovering from his encounter on Trenchant station, not nearly improved enough to spearhead this movement at the present time. Dooku had better not be planning to delay for the bounty hunter.

 

Dooku shrugged, "After the operations Durge took part in before, especially Ohma-D'un, the Republic will plan accordingly to counter his tactics. In reality, Grievous will command the maneuver and have the advantage of surprise."

 

Sidious nodded in understanding and tacit agreement, _what is done in secret has great power_ , the words echoed in his mind. There was one other issue. "Corellia," Sidious said tersely, "is not to be touched."

 

Both the Count and General started, they had rather wanted to cripple the shipyards there, forcing the Republic to pour material there to stave off the attacks. "My lord?" Dooku asked, his curiosity winning out over his trepidation.

 

Sidious waved off the comment, "While under different circumstances it could be a viable target, it's more useful to draw off ships from the surrounding sectors if the Republic believes Corellia to be in danger when in reality it will be a diversion. Duro would be a prime target to exploit this."

 

"Yes, of course, my lord," Dooku agreed, not that he had all that much choice in the matter. When Sidious said 'jump,' you didn't have time to ask how high, only to react and hope said height pleased the Dark Lord.

 

"The rest," Sidious continued as if Dooku hadn't responded, "are acceptable. Proceed as planned. I will continue to provide you with Republic fleet movements to maximize the effectiveness of the assaults." Sidious moved to cut the transmission, but paused midway, "When the ruler of Aydrau V returns to his planet, select one of his advisors to take over command of the government. His Illustriousness has outlived his usefulness. You will see to this personally, Count, and contact me after it has been done."

 

Not having knowledge of Palpatine's meeting, Dooku nodded in ignorance. He did, however, feel uneasy. Sidious was as close to smiling as he had ever genuinely come in the Count's presence and the last time Dooku had seem something close to that, the being in question had suffered extensively. _Poor fool, I wonder how he earned such a fate_ , Dooku mused about the ill-fated Caliph. The hologram vanished, leaving Dooku and Grievous behind.

 

* * *

 

 

**Providence-class Destroyer, _Invisible Hand_ , Above Yag'Dhul; 21 BBY**

 

Several weeks following Darth Sidious' approval, the staging was complete. The First fleet of the Confederacy silently drifted about the Givin home world. The Third fleet simultaneously awaited their instructions over Thyferra for the coordinated attack. Techno Union Hardcells would clear the way with Seismic EMP countermines. The Republic had gotten word of Operation Durge's Lance the previous week, though the target list was heavily modified. None of the targets listed were authentic and prominently featured was Corellia.

 

General Grievous stalked to the command salon of his flagship. He waved a six-clawed hand toward one of the droid pilots and the fleet sent the signal. His time was at hand. After nipping and scrounging on the edges of the Republic, he was finally given permission to eviscerate it. Coruscant may be the heart, but the Core worlds were vital organs. No one cared for the extremities of the Outer Rim and even the Colonies, ostensibly part of the Core were often ignored. But now they couldn't ignore the Confederacy because the carnage would be too close to do anything but acknowledge it.

 

Once confirmation from Thyferra had been established, the First fleet jumped into hyperspace. A flicker of pseudo-motion launched the mechanical armada towards its destination. In hours, The Republic would realize that there was nothing they could do to stop the Confederacy, nothing they could do the stop Grievous. Their worlds would fall, a domino effect of destruction set off by this first world's plummet. It was the beginning of the end; the end of security for the Core, and the end of the Republic was at hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got around to writing Chapter 1 and am pretty pleased with it. Not too much to say about this part, except the Palpatine scene. I modeled Juarez off of a couple off-handed comments by Palpatine in a couple of the Clone Wars series books of two separate, unrelated dignitaries. I thought I would be fun to have Sidious have to deal with both at once. That's probably my favorite part of the story thus far.


	3. Shockwave

**Acclamator-class Assasult Ship, _Coronet_ , Above Duro 0220 Local Time; 21 BBY**

 

Defense blockades were fickle assignments, however necessary the high command deems them to be. Admiral Eeu'la had decades of combat experience, though the majority of it was under the private military of her adopted home world. Once the Republic had decided to create a centralized military, the demand for officers was quite high and many a local militia was stripped of command personnel to feed the Republic war machine. After all, they may have had soldiers in abundance, but it took experienced officers to win battles. It was just as important to have such officers stationed at important hardpoints to save them in the event of an attack, and that was the source of the capricious nature of such missions. A probable assailant determined their own time table, there was little the protectors could do but react.

 

Duros itself was more of a wasteland than anything else. The water and air were heavily polluted by industry, unregulated for decades by bought governmental agencies. True, they were forced to address the lax enforcement under Chancellor Palpatine, an achievement in itself, but nothing could turn back the tide in only a few years. Because of this, the planet was sparely populated, abandoned to food processing plants that fed the citizens of the orbital cities like Jyvus. Those were not the reason for a Republic defense force, that lay with the much more lucrative and valuable orbital shipyards that pumped out Republic warships on a daily basis to supplant those fed into the fires of war. Not nearly as extensive as Fondor, Kuat, or Corellia, but enough to warrant the protection.

 

As it was, Eeu'la was nervous. Weeks before, Republic Intelligence had gotten wind of a potential Separatist attack on Corellia. High Command decided that they could redirect ships from surrounding planets to protect Corellia, though in reality they only cared about the Corellian shipyards. Duro, being a close neighbor, had contributed half of its Venator complement to the cause. That alone would have had Eeu'la uneasy, but three days ago she lost her other three Venator Star Destroyers thanks to the Senate Action Subcommittee for Corellian Trade Spine Defense, a long winded name for bloated governmental bureaucracy and meddling. They had, in all the wisdom of Senators who've never served a day in their lives, determined that it was the perfect time to have them perform shakedown cruises through the Trade Spine. Of course, this was all deemed 'need to know' so only the Admiral and her command staff were kept informed of their current locations. The only thing stopping her from making waves was her ability to call all the ships back in an emergency. Sure, it would take some time, but they could hold out long enough, not that anyone in the Confederacy could possibly know of the current vulnerabilities of the Duro Defense Fleet without someone feeding them information on the inside, and who could possibly do that?

 

* * *

 

**Chancellor's Office, Coruscant; 21 BBY**

 

It was not often one could converse civilly with a sworn enemy, but Palpatine did it on a regular basis. Of course, the current level of amicability owed much to the fact that his guest had no inclination of what Palpatine did in the time when he wasn't being Chancellor of the Republic, but working towards its downfall. Still, one couldn't help but appreciate the irony of the situation. Palpatine knew he would look back on moments like this with a certain level nostalgia when he ruled the galaxy.

 

"Another cup, Master Yoda?" he asked in the gracious guise of the host. Naris-bud tea wasn't the most expensive brew the Chancellor had, but he often tailored his drinking choices to his companions. Naris-bud was one of the more austere selections at the Temple Refectory, but a safer alternative to the sludge the green imp was known to consume, and as draconian as Palpatine's own tastes were, not even he would stoop to subsist on muck if he could help it.

 

Yoda stoically agreed, though with a noticeably resigned air for those with a _sensitivity_ to such things. It had been a hard week for the aged Grand Master, three Jedi: two knights and one master, had fallen. Even in a galaxy at war, the scant few Jedi losses sent ripples though the vaulted Order. Of course, that was half of the reason Palpatine insisted on these in-person meetings: to gloat. The information could just have easily been exchanged via hologram, but to actually feel the trollish freak in despair was a delicacy to be savored.

 

"Are you well, Master Yoda? You seem somewhat disheartened," Palpatine asked, the saccharine worry rolled off his tongue outwardly concerned, inwardly mocking the pain of the ancient master. After all, he knew exactly what had the Jedi glum, it just felt so much better to twist the dagger in further by making the Jedi say it in his own words. It was the simple things in life that one had to appreciate.

 

"Darker, the galaxy has become," Yoda said, sighing slightly, "Fight harder, the light must, when it loses one of its own."

 

"Of course, we all regret the circumstances and the losses the Jedi have suffered," Palpatine said, _more so that your losses were so pathetically miniscule, if only it had been six, a dozen, more_. Before he could continue his mental tirade, his aide, Sly Moore interrupted.

 

Her pallor and ostensibly dull clothing clearly marker her as an Umbaran, Sly Moore had been with Palpatine since his Senatorial days. Truth be told, it wasn't serendipity that she came into his service. Sidious always had need of servants with _special_ skills and had no compunction with acquiring them. Young Moore had been flagged early on by the Jedi for training, something  divulged to then-Senator Palpatine, a stalwart supporter of the Jedi Order, and personal friends with Masters Dooku and Ronhar Kim. Like many before her, Sidious instructed his apprentice to abduct the prospective Padawan and take her to one of his clandestine stores in the Cron Drift.

 

The Cron Drift were the scattered remains of the Cron Cluster. An ancient Sith sorceress, Aleema Keto, along with a specially modified Derriphan Battleship, destroyed the entire nebula and left behind naught but a desecrated asteroid field. Since then, the Cron Drift had become so steeped in the Dark Side that it had become as desolate as other Sith strongholds like Korriban or Ziost. Sidious had, though various intermediaries, established an automated colony on one of the larger asteroids. It was here he stored some of the many artifacts that were too conspicuous to be housed elsewhere, lest they draw unwanted attention. In recent years, however, he had begun to establish a network of agents while still apprenticed to his own master, Plagueis. The process was simple enough, potential Jedi candidates were abducted before they could be snatched by the Order and sent to Sidious' storehouse to determine their worth. In the following months, the prisoners would be constantly assaulted by the many artifacts. If they were strong, Palpatine would come and 'rescue' them. Needless to say, there wasn't normally much left by the time Sidious deigned to drop by, but sacrifices must be made for the Grand Plan.

 

Thus the Umbaran Force sensitive had been forced to endure three months of continual pervasive violations by Sidious' treasures. Her own willpower kept her from the depth of insanity, as so many before her had fallen, though no amount of strength could compensate there being only enough provisions to last two months. Sidious had arrived, quite expecting to find a corpse or, barring that, a mindless animal he would end up slaughtering. Events had conspired to prevent him from visiting his retreat for a month longer than planned. Instead, he found a disheveled and emaciated girl, though still of sound mind. Introducing himself as Palpatine, a Senator from Naboo, Sidious took her from the makeshift tomb and nursed her back to health.

 

Personally educating the girl in politics, and eventually revealing his Sith alter-ego, Moore became eternally loyal to Sidious, though she never knew it was he that had condemned her to those three months of torment in the Cron Drift. Moore joined other beings like Kinman Doriana, Sate Pestage, and Ars Dangor in Palpatine inner circle of aides and advisors. Upon his election to Chancellor, Sidious supplied Moore with a number of sensitive documents regarding the Senior Administrative Aide under Finis Valorum, Sei Taria. With clear evidence of an affair and other, less savory, actions, Moore blackmailed Taria into retirement and took her place.

 

Thus, it was her responsibility to bring something like this to her master, both privately and publically, as soon as it had hit the HoloNet. She glided into the antechamber, inclining her head slightly in acknowledgment of the diminutive Jedi Master before turning to Palpatine. "Excellency, we have a HoloNet wide transmission from the Duro system," she said, and upon receiving permission, she activated the suite's central holoprojector.

 

A small clearing of land sprang to life between the Chancellor and Jedi Grand Master, floating above the inlaid holoprojector at the sunken center of the room. Standing atop the 'island' was the menacing form of the Separatists' General, Grievous.

 

"So . . . the Republic would have the galaxy believe that its heart is secure," the cyborg grated, gesturing to the surrounding wreckage. Among the scattered debris was, somewhat artfully done, more so than Sidious would have given the General credit for, was a shredded Republic banner and an intact Separatist one. Grievous continued, "Today's events, however, show that there is nothing that can stop our forces from total victory."

 

Palpatine made a note of Yoda's impassive face as he watched Grievous ramble on. Really, Dooku must teach his pet the art of when to stop grandstanding. A few words here, a cracked clone helmet there, and everyone would be suitably cowed. Instead, the General drew out his monologue for a full three minutes denouncing various Republic 'crimes.' Palpatine wanted to roll his eyes, the Separatists were hardly innocent. Still, he understood the necessity of such drabble. If you repeat it often enough, opinion and conjecture become reality and everyone has to toe the party line.

 

When the message concluded, he cleared his throat. "This is most distressing, to have Duro fall on our watch. How could this have happened, Master Yoda?" As if the imp, who had received the news as soon as the Chancellor, would be able to come up with any answer.

 

"Know not, do I, the events that transpired on Duro," Yoda said gravely, setting aside his cup. "To the Temple, I must go, Chancellor."

 

"Of course, no doubt my military advisors are anxious to alleviate the situation," Palpatine called after the retreating Jedi Master. "Do keep me apprised, Master Yoda."

 

* * *

 

**HoloNet News Broadcast Transcript; 21 BBY**

 

Scandal rocks the corridors of the Senate today after revelations shed new light on the debacle at Duro. A report compiled by SBI Agent Inglemenn Barezz was leaked this afternoon by sources within the Hall of Justice. In it, troubling allegations of corruption within the Senate Action Subcommittee for Corellian Trade Spine Defense. The investigation revealed that three Victory-class Destroyers that were reassigned to so-called "shakedown cruises" weeks before the Separatist invasion were in fact appropriated by Chairman Ronet Coorr to Rodia after Senator Onaconda Farr reported secured building contracts on Ando for the Iseno Senator.

 

Though the report offers no concrete proof of sedition, many are calling for criminal tribunals for the disgraced Senators involved. Public backlash has taken the form of many calling for the Senate to relinquish their influence over the Grand Army of the Republic over to the Supreme Chancellor. Critics claim that this is an isolated incident, and does not reflect the overall situation. Proponents, such as Senator Ister Paddie, have gone on record:

 

"While there are many loyal Senators in the Republic, we cannot gamble the freedom of our worlds on such naive promises that, no doubt, ring hollow to our brothers and sisters on Duro. The Supreme Chancellor has done his best to hold us together in these trying times, but he cannot do so if we have lawmakers abusing their oversight ability. I call on the Senate to ensure that such a tragedy as has befallen Duro will never darken another world in the Republic. For the sake of our continued Democracy, we must empower the Chancellor to conduct the war."

 

End transmission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've neglected this story for a while, I've actually been working on another project, though I'm not planning on publishing anything until I'm completely finish, lest it end up like this.
> 
> As for this story, I've been struggling to keep to the original intent that this be about Operation Durge's Lance, but I inevitably end up showing the political side of it all. With that in mind, I've changed the title and the new focus will be the political aspects of the war. Durge's Lance will still be featured, but more as a backdrop and catalyst for many things.


	4. Aftershock

**Chancellor Office, Coruscant; 20 BBY**

 

"Ah, Senators, right on time," Supreme Chancellor Palpatine said as he looked up from a number of scattered datapads on his desk.

 

Bail Prestor Organa, with all his dignity of a dozen years in office, bowed stiffly as he headed the Loyalist Committee's procession into the Chancellor's office. A career politician, Organa was an anomaly in the realm of politics in that he was genuinely respected for his devotion to his duties in office. Though he had taken office shortly after Palpatine's election, the Alderaanian royal quickly gained the ear of the newly elected Chancellor and found himself a central cog in the bureaucracy that he had so often chafed against for its stagnation.

 

He had been an ardent supporter of Palpatine in the early years, but now he wasn't so sure. There wasn't anything specifically to point to for his shift in feelings, but things seemed to be happening that made Bail uncomfortable about the whole situation. Things like the disappearance of Seti Ashgad mere weeks after his vocal opposition to the installation of cam droids in the Rotunda, but nothing had rattled his confidence in the Chancellor quite as much as his last encounter with Finis Valorum.

 

The disgraced former Chancellor had shown up at Cantham House, Organa's Coruscant residence one evening a few days before the Senate had passed the Enhanced Security and Enforcement Act. Monumental in scope, it was in response to a terrorist attack on Coruscant weeks previously and gave the executive branch the ability to conduct searches, seizures, and even place surveillance equipment without due process. Valorum had been outraged and decided to pay a visit to the lead opposition to the legislation.

 

* * *

 

**Cantham House, Coruscant; 21 BBY**

 

Valorum paced the plush ante-room, as Organa looked on uneasily. He'd seen Valorum before, but never so rattled, it was strange. Valorum had been a career politician, too, hailing for a family dynasty prestigious enough to have multiple members hold the office of Chancellor. Now, however, he was pale and gangly, thin hair having lost all vestiges of color that had held on through his own scandalous departure from politics. Turning abruptly, Valorum had a wild glint in his eye.

 

"The Senate barters away fundamental rights upon which the Republic was built!" Valorum spat, "You trust that tyrant you are creating will give them back to you when the crisis is over? Palpatine will give back nothing!"

 

Organa shifted slightly, "That's pretty incendiary talk, my friend. The Chancellor has always made public his intent to relinquish to powers vested to his office once the Separatist crisis is over."

 

"No one who seeks power the way he does ever surrenders it willingly . . . Palpatine will make sure that any individual or group that opposes him or is in his way is removed," Valorum said, his voice shrill, "Look what happened to King Veruna, look what happened to me!"

 

"Now Finis," Organa soothed, getting up and going to the carafe, "My predecessor thoroughly went through that case--"

 

"I know it was Palpatine that had me framed," Valorum cut him off, "I was forced to resign as Chancellor so that he could ascend to it."

 

"Along with Antilles and Teem? He hardly had great odds against the two of them. He would have needed to spearhead a conspiracy the likes of which would spawn holodramas to pull it off."

 

Valorum stared at the off-white floor for a few moments before making for the door. "I have no more proof of that than I do that he masterminded my fall," Valorum turned one last time back to Organa, "If I did have it, Palpatine would be in chains at this moment."

 

With that, the former Chancellor left Ograna's home, leaving Bail to wonder if he'd ever see the man again.

 

* * *

 

**Chancellor's Office, Coruscant; 20 BBY**

 

Incidentally, it would be the last time Organa would see him. Valorum would die in yet another terrorist days after the meeting. His ship, _Star of Iskin_ , was attacked by Separatist assassins utilizing explosives, killing all aboard instantly. To make matters worse, the wreckage crashed into a heavily populated residential district, causing the carnage of thousands there. The fatal voyage resulted in two things: the immediate passage of the Enforcement Act and the construction of the Finis Valorum Memorial. The monument was erected on the Chancellery Walkway of the Jrade District. Palpatine dedicated the site, but only two-hundred people showed up for the unveiling.

 

Still, nothing about Palpatine personally had changed, though Organa suspected there was some confrontation between Valorum and Palpatine after his own meeting with the disgruntled former Chancellor. But nothing Palpatine did was illegal, nor did it even appear immoral. He was constantly trying to temper his authority by asking for council from the Jedi and the Loyalist Committee, as he was most likely doing today.

 

"Please be seated," Palpatine said as he rose from his desk and gestured to a recessed seating area in the middle of the room before joining them, "It's with a certain amount of sobriety that I'm forced to convene this august body so shortly after losing two of its prominent members, but the nature of the situation calls for decisive action."

 

The corpulent Orn Free Taa, always eager to please the Chancellor, was the first to respond, "I'm sure we all understand, Chancellor, the loss of Duro is a grave wound for all who love the Republic."

 

A slight grimace graced Palpatine's grandfatherly face, "As it so happens, the situation with Duro is precisely the matter that concerns Emergency Amendment 121B, my friends."

 

Lexi Dio, a slight human female from Uyter, frowned, "'Emergency Amendment 121B' . . . the Reflex Amendment?"

 

The Chancellor looked slightly stricken at the use of the more common moniker, mainly utilized by those in opposition to it, "I'm afraid so, my dear. I, myself, had been hesitant to put it forth given the scope, but I fear Duro has shown us that something needs to be done."

 

Padme, a fervent opponent of the bill, was shocked to hear Palpatine advocating for it, "Chancellor, you cannot be serious, that amendment would effectively bypass Senate oversight."

 

"It's an efficient streamlining of cumbersome bureaucracy," Palpatine corrected, "and, I fear, a necessary one."

 

Dio scowled, "To what end could you possibly mean, Chancellor? The Senate must have authority in the Republic."

 

"I'm not saying it won't, Senator, but there are times where there needs to be action."

 

"Unilateral action--"

 

"Decisive action, the kind that was prevented when the Separatists attacked Duro." Palpatine said firmly, "Look at the damage Senators Coorr and Farr did, if that Senate Subcommittee hadn't the ability to order ship movements, we very well may not have lost a Republic world."

 

Dio was clearly unmoved. Glancing to Mon Mothma and Fang Zar, both of whom supported her in spirit, if not in words, she continued. "While I do not mean to besmirch the efficacy of our military, I fail to see how three Star Destroyers could have turned the tide."

 

The Chancellor nodded judiciously, spreading his arms. "That may very well be the case, but what if a situation were to arise where it was? Moreover, what if next time it is not a simple case of corruption, but actual treason?"

 

Organa finally decided to intervene, it looked too much like the majority of the committee agreed with the Chancellor, and though Bail hadn't fully decided how he felt about Palpatine at this point, this was clearly the wrong path to take. "What of the Security Act? In cases of actual treason, wouldn't that enable us to head off a concerted effort to hamper our military?"

 

"I'm certain it would given time, but we don't always have the luxury to wait for our enemies to miscalculate," Palpatine gestured to Dio, "The Senator from Uyter brought up its alternate moniker, and it is perhaps more apt than she would believed. There are times when we must react to a situation. We try to anticipate all we can, but cannot rely on that alone."

 

Ister Paddie, a staunch Palpatine-loyalist, spoke up, "We cannot allow another crisis like Duro to occur under our watch when we could have prevented it."

 

"Yet our own intelligence indicates that this was merely a coincidence, that the corruption that deprived those Destroyers was an isolated case." Giddean Danu asked, "Should we legislate based on hypothetical situation? Can we?"

 

"Yet it could have happened," Palpatine said as he stood, "You said it was coincidence, but how do we know that? True, the Senators at fault were not working for the Separatists, but perhaps a staff member was. When the Senate does anything there is a considerable number of people who have access to those records, given the right security levels, who knows what they may reveal to our enemies?"

 

"That would be quite a conspiracy, Chancellor," Silya Shessaun, Senator from Thesme, said.

 

"I don't mean to imply that we have, amongst us here, someone who pretends to be someone they are not simply for the chance to spirit secrets away to the Separatists. That would be farfetched for our most base holodramas," Palpatine chuckled quietly before taking on a more somber tone. "We do, however, have a responsibility to our constituent planets to protect them. I cannot in good conscience fail to do all I can to protect them."

 

 The Chancellor folded his arms behind his back and strode to the floor-to-ceiling transparasteel window that bathed the room in white light, casting him in a silhouette. The Senators took it as an indication to rise.

 

"Please consider the Amendment, it will be brought to the floor in three days," Palpatine said, still turned away from the Loyalist Committee.

 

Organa was just about to leave with the others as Lexi Dio spoke up. "I am sorry, Chancellor, but I need no time to consider legislation that will take us an authoritarian step away from democracy. We cannot lose that what makes us who we are in an attempt to save ourselves from hypothetical threats to us. If we pass this bill, the Separatists will not need to land a single droid on Coruscant to destroy our democracy, we will have done it ourselves in the name of stopping them."

 

Organa was genuinely curious as to how the Chancellor would respond, his was never a confrontational demeanor. Palpatine turned slowly to the Senators, seemingly frozen in place at Dio's outspoken speech, all but denouncing the Chancellor himself. A sad smile curved slightly at the corners of his mouth and his ice blue eyes seem iridescent with the rest of him so shadowed by the blinding silver of the Coruscant cityscape. For the first time since meeting the Chancellor, Organa felt a slight chill as he noticed the eyes seemed to have an almost electric glow to them, like sparkling sapphires at the bottom of an ancient well.

 

"We all must do what we feel is right, Senator Dio, and, for better or worse, we must accept the consequences for our decisions."

 

* * *

 

**HoloNet News Broadcast Transcript; 20 BBY**

 

Tragedy strikes Coruscant today at the sudden and unexpected death of Senator Lexi Dio of Uyter. Security Forces are reluctant to comment, but inside sources have hinted that Dio was assassinated by Separatist sleeper agents. She is survived by her husband and three children. Reports are unconfirmed, but Malé-Dee has been put forth as a potential replacement as Uyter's Senate position. He has, as of yet, been unable to be reached for comment.

 

In other news, the Senate is preparing to debate Emergency Amendment 121b, commonly known as the 'Reflex Amendment.' Analysts have predicted it will pass with a clear majority. When asked for comment, the Chancellor's Office released the following statement:

 

"The Chancellor is saddened by the apparent need of this kind of legislation, but understands the intent entailed. Publically, the Chancellor will neither endorse nor denounce this bill, but trusts that the Senate will do only what is in the best interests of the Republic. If it is their decision that this Amendment be passed, the Chancellor will, as always, seek the wisdom and council of the Jedi Order and Military High Command on the necessity of implementation, should a situation arise in which the powers delegated need to be utilized."

 

Opponents of the bill claim it will allow the Chancellor to interfere with local planetary and sector governments, but proponents counter that such interpretations are outlandish and unfounded.

 

End transmission.


	5. Figureheads

**Chancellor Office, Coruscant; 20 BBY**

 

" . . . To conclude, I feel it imperative to reiterate that the events on Duro, while troubling on a galactic scale, offer no immediate threat to Coruscant or its sibling worlds." Armand Isard's cerulean eyes flashed in cold conviction. "Core World security is at the highest levels since the start of the war. With the recent passage of Emergency Amendment 121b, I have every confidence that we will turn back the tide of Separatist attacks. Thank you."

 

Stiffly turning to leave, Isard could hear the uproar of questions following him. What did these reporters expect? It's not like he could very well say anything else, even if it wasn't true. Isard was in charge of two of the most potent Intelligence operations in the galaxy. He was the first being in Republic history to hold both the position of Director-General of the Senate Bureau of Intelligence and Directorship of Republic Intelligence. He was a quiet man, reserved, but knew just how unsafe Coruscant really was.

 

To be far, it wasn't something that could very well have been prevented. By its nature, Coruscant was a melting pot of the denizens of the galaxy. Everyone dreamed of coming here to find a life of comfort and riches, though most ended up discovering the wonders of poverty and squalor. With such a variety of sentient beings, any Intelligence organization would be strained in even peace times.

 

No, the problem was much simpler, and far more complicated. What Isard needed was authority, authority to track and watch everything that happened on Coruscant. Every transaction, every skycar ride, everything. Nothing of importance can be done without interacting with the grid, without buying food, or transporting supplies and personnel. With that kind of authorization, Isard could make the jewel of the galaxy as safe as their propaganda claimed. The problem lay in civil rights. Bleeding heart politicians and political action groups clamoring against steps _necessary_ to secure peace.

 

Isard rounded the corner in the Senate Rotunda and headed straight to his office. He passed many of the very politicians like Organa and Mothma that hindered him and the galaxy with their anachronistic ideals. Still, he had heart that all was not lost. While the Senate was a hopeless cesspool of naiveté, he had an ally in the Chancellor. Isard had known Palpatine from his time as Senator of Naboo and the Chommell Sector. Even then, the future Chancellor understood the need for delicate handing of situations. He may talk like Organa and Mothma, but Isard knew Palpatine had a more practical heart, and it was that which would save the Republic from chaos and anarchy.

 

Pressing his palm to the security pad, he slipped into his private office to find it already occupied. The first person wasn't a surprise, his daughter, Ysanne, often visited him. He had high hopes of her future career in Intelligence, even at her current ten standard years. It was the second individual that was a surprise. Sitting in one of his guest chairs, was the Supreme Chancellor in rapt attention as Ysanne was telling him of her last time with her father in the field.

 

"And we found them hiding in the water station," Ysanne concluded proudly.

 

The Chancellor gave an indulgent smile and laid a bony hand on her shoulder. "That was very brave of you and your father, my dear."

 

As Palpatine had yet to acknowledge his entrance, Isard gave a small nod. "Chancellor."

 

"Ah Armand, I'm glad you're here. Your lovely daughter was regaling me with some of your past exploits while I waited. I was hoping to speak with you."

 

Now standing, the Chancellor towered over the ten-year-old, shielding her from the picture window, casting her in shadow. Isard wasn't a man who put much stock in feelings, but something within seemed to be pulling, with no avail, at his heart. "Of course, Chancellor. Ysanne, leave us."

 

The young girl turned her heterochromatic eyes on the Chancellor, as if asking permission to stay, permission to defy her father. Another pull, another repression.

 

Palpatine flashed another smile and gently ushered her toward to door. "Go on, child, I'm sure we'll be able to catch up later."

 

Resigned, Ysanne left, off to wander around the offices of the SBI until her father's meeting was over. The door closed, and Palptaine's smile remained frozen on his face. Physically, it was the same, but there was no longer any emotional warmth beneath. Isard respected the Chancellor for his ability to hold the Republic together and make the hard choices any leader must, but there were times when Palpatine's demeanor gave him pause. There were times when Isard thought he saw something dark prowling around behind the Chancellor's icy eyes, when there was something undeniably off about the Republic's Chancellor.

 

"Where were we? Ah yes, this dreadful business with Duro." Just like that, it was gone. Isard felt himself wonder if he had ever seen anything to begin with. "Despite your assurances to the public at large, I think it would be prudent to make a gesture that would galvanize the people behind our defense force."

 

Isard noticed that little tick of Palpatine's, his tendency to sheathe orders in requests, as if obeying them was a choice, that you wanted to follow, instead of it being a command. Still, he had long since grown accustomed to the Chancellor's style of leadership. Perhaps not as iron-clad as Isard used with his subordinates, but there was durasteel lying underneath those ample robes. He inclined his head to the right. "A figurehead appointment, perhaps?" Though some thought him handsome, Isard was more mentally proficient than anything else.

 

"You make it sound so manipulative, my friend," Palpatine hummed. "I'd like to think of it as rewarding the courageous."

 

"Then you have someone in mind?"

 

"Would I bring it up, if I did not?" Palpatine slid a data card across the slate-grey desktop towards Isard. "Terrinald Screed."

 

Isard frowned in thought. "An early proponent of the Military Creation Act, if I recall, and a Captain in the Navy."

 

Nodding judiciously, Palpatine raised a slender finger. "And recently awarded the Holt Cross, along with a Captain Dodonna. The latter is already on his way to Rendili with Master Koon, but Captain Screed was injured on his last mission," Palpatine slowly walked around the spares room as he continued to talk. "What better way to recuperate than to take command of the Home Fleet as Vice Admiral?"

 

"That's generous of you, Chancellor."

 

"The people love their heroes," Palpatine shrugged.

 

 _Now who is being manipulative?_ Isard thought, but never dared give voice to his words. Not that he had a problem with it, just that it seemed no politician was immune from semantics, even the Chancellor. "I will so inform the Vice Admiral, then."

 

"Do that, Armand," the Chancellor moved to leave, but paused at the threshold. "Oh, and bring your daughter to the next Advisory Council meeting. I think it would be a practical experience for her. I can see you in her, my friend, she will go far."

 

"As you wish, Chancellor."

 

Palpatine turned and was gone, the temperature seemingly growing warmer now. Isard thought more on the Chancellor's parting words. His response has been immediate, but now he gave pause to the implication. Another pull, this time harder. Isard mentally shook his head to rid himself of the unknown feeling. In fact, Palpatine was quite right, the more she is exposed to, the more drive she will have to be the best.

 

* * *

 

**HoloNet News Broadcast Transcript; 20 BBY**

 

The appointment of Vice Admiral Screed to stewardship of the Coruscant Home Fleet was met with a chorus of approval earlier today when the Chancellor's office announced the war hero would be taking command of the prestigious flotilla. A staunch loyalist, Screed received the Holt Cross for his heroic actions over Anaxes. A more comprehensive biography is set to air later today.

 

In other news, recent planetary defections, led by leaders accused of corruption, have prompted many to call for an installation of governors over worlds thought to be in danger of succession. With the recent liberation of Onderon by its people, many have called for the Republic to step in and ensure that planetary leaders are unable to disenfranchise their people with similar unilateral action. The unanimity of such demands is in question, however, as a handful of senators have cautioned against such action. When asked for comment, Chandrila Senator, Mon Mothma said this:

 

"I understand the desire to protect the people, but I fear this kind of action would do more harm than good. If we continually look to military solutions to our problems, we will cease to be the democracy we are fighting to protect."

 

When reached for comment, the Chancellor's office declined to take a position on the issue, Vice Chair Amedda would only say that:

 

"The Chancellor is, of course, sympathetic to both positions. At this point in time, however, such a decision must go through the Senate and not the executive branch. If the Senate deems this a necessary step to maintaining security, then they must make the decision."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When did this become a series of political one-shots?


	6. Charity

**Retired Senator Lawson's Residence, 500 Republica, Coruscant; 20 BBY**

 

It was colloquially thought, though the most egregious of mistaken assumptions often begin with those sentiments, that to be elected to Chancellorship of the Republic was the pinnacle of a politician's career. After all, it wasn't as if your average Chancellor had designs on becoming a sovereign. They would 'serve' in office for their allotted term, or terms if they were popular, and then go into obscurity. The truly unlucky ones tried to atone for their political sins by engaging in the most loathsome of public work: charity. The word should give you shudders. Sure, the connotation inspires images of sending food to starving wookiees or building homes for the poor Not the poor of Coruscant, of course, they don't generate the kind of publicity that media whore politicians want in a photo-op. None of this, unfortunately for the current Chancellor, was limited to former Chancellors. Many a senator sold their soul, often to Palpatine himself or one of his functionaries, to get the votes they needed on a bill.

 

That, in essence, is the 'why,' but it's the 'how' that set Palpatine's teeth on edge. In order for said ex-senator to exploit the underprivileged, feeding their ego and guilt more than any starving child, they needed to raise money. Not their own money, obviously, that would simply be absurd. No, the most sacred rule of 'charity' is to never spend a single cred-coin of your own. To do this, one orchestrated a 'Charitable Trust Gala' or 'Altruistic Soirée,' but for all the semantics involved, it was still a glorified party for the donators and celebrities. That's the second rule to adhere to. Beings rarely gave money anonymously, they wanted to be seen doing it, and they wanted to be pampered in the process. No doubt a large portion of whatever donations would be funneled right back to subsidize the lavish party that spurred them to give the money in the first place. It was an endless cycle of vanity, wine, and hors d'oeuvre all wrapped in a neat package of 'helping' the less fortunate.

 

Not that Palpatine honestly cared about the poor. He had never gone hungry a day in his life, excluding the time during his apprenticeship to Plagueis, but that was for a purpose more than lack of access. No, he genuinely wouldn't care if a little Gungan child was on her wobbly knees, begging for food, right before him. He'd act like he did, but wouldn't shed anything but crocodile tears should the slimy runt die. Of course, he did have a particular dislike for Gungans in general. Despite access to some truly spectacular technological advances in aquatic transportation, the vast majority couldn't utter a single line of Basic without butchering the language—and it wasn't as if they learned Basic as a second language. Only a handful of elders still spoke Old Gungan, the rest were raised on butchered Basic, more commonly known as Gunganese. It was to Palpatine's eternal shame that he could hold a conversation with a Gungan and understand what they were saying to him. He sent thousands of Clones to perish on a weekly schedule without a blink of an eye, but a single greeting from the lamentable Representative Binks would make him want to rub his skin raw in an effort to feel clean again.

 

 _Speak of the devil, and he shall bumble_ , Palpatine kept his slight smile plastered on his sore face as the subject of his boredom-addled thoughts stumbled through the wall of patrons and caught the Chancellor's eye. It wasn't as if Palpatine could pretend to hear someone call him away, never noticing Binks, as he had done so many times before. And, though he secretly believed a majority would support him, it would certainly be out of character for the Republic's Supreme Chancellor to stab the Naboo representative with a fork. He might not be able to actually kill the walking poster child for the sterilization of the Gungan population, but Palpatine knew he would give it his best shot, given the opportunity.

 

"Supreme Chancellor—meesa so happy to be see-en yousa!"

 

Jar-Jar raised his hands, each of which clutched a small crustacean that had been deep-fried and were being offered at the entrance. Normally, Palpatine mentally corrected every sentence that came out of the Gungan's mouth, but this time the prospect of the idiot smearing his greasy hands over Palpatine's Veda cloth robes overrode the natural impulse to correct. It wasn't as if Palpatine were particularly vain, especially not relative to the company he was keeping at the moment, but if he was going to sacrifice his clothes, he shouldn't have to also suffer a conversation with Binks. So, in the typical efficiency he used to execute other, less vital, tasks, and with the life of his robes hanging in the balance, he tried to kill the Gungan.

 

Well, he didn't actively try to kill the wretch, per se, but he would have started to believe in miracles if it had happened as a result of Palpatine's machinations. Knowing the Jedi never attended a party such as this, and catching a serving droid out of the corner of his eye rolling towards his imminent meeting with Binks, the Chancellor sent a mental push from behind the top-heavy machine. With its tray full of various champagne flutes, most of which contained a vintage crimson wine, it fell directly at the Gungan Representative. Sadly, none of the glass flutes shattered and punctured a jugular, but the intended effect was realized.

 

Collapsed in a mass of green limbs and shiny silver parts, Binks' cheap robes were soaked. The wine, undoubtedly worth more than the rags, certainly worth more than the being wearing them, was doing its best to ruin retired-Senator Lawson's pearl-white rug, having thoroughly shorted out the unfortunate serving droid. Said retiree took that moment to burst through the crowd and take in the chaos. Turning a raging crimson that would make a Lethan Twi'lek proud, the morbidly obese woman's voice cracked as her cry over the ill-fated rug forced the gathering to stop and see what had upset the socialite so. It was no secret, Jar Jar Binks' clumsiness, so the raven-haired matron immediately assumed it was his fault—it was certainly a logical conclusion.

 

"What have you done to my home?" Her shrill voice summoned flesh-and-blood staff and cleaning droids to the disaster zone. In a few short moments, the debris was gathered, the Gungan was dragged to his unstable feet, and an industrial-strength cleaner was applied to the drying stain. Unnoticed by all but the Chancellor, the pair of fried balls that had been the instigation of the whole thing had been thrown clear across the room, under a covered table. While the entire wrath of the cleaning gods were brought to bear on the drink stains, the far more insidious globes of grease were leaving behind a present for Lawson to find after the party was over.

 

Though he had successfully saved his clothes from Binks, the kindly Chancellor couldn't simply ignore him now. So, careful to sidestep the cleaning droids, he laid a care worn hand on a dry part of the Gungan's robes. Despite his personal preference, he had better forestall Lawson's impulse to murder the oaf. It just wouldn't do for a retired senator to be charged with a capital offense the same night her charity function was supposed to be raising money for starving orphans, or whatever this whole thing was for.

 

"There, there, Representative Binks." Palpatine forced his protesting mouth to smile a little more. If it looked strained to anyone else, they would at least understand. "I think you may need to retire for the night. That was quite a fall, you wouldn't want to overexert yourself."

 

Looking confused, a perpetual state for the fool, Binks nodded. "Yousa right," he agreed, before turning to the woman glaring vibroblades at his back. "Meesa real sorry for meesa causin' so much trouble."

 

Then, with all the class of a inbred canine, Binks shook himself, spraying the gathered circle of onlookers, and the Chancellor himself, with the spilled wine. Palpatine's forced smile stayed, a feat that should have earned him a medal, in his opinion. The other being directly at ground zero was Lawson herself. Her own dress, a sky blue shimmersilk ensemble, now was dotted with spots. She, lacking the Chancellor's resolve, grabbed a nearby fork and lunged at the retreating Gungan. Thankfully for all involved, and the security forces who would have had to be called had she reached the Naboo Representative, the staff hired for the evening jumped into action. It took four of them to subdue the raving woman. But in between her incoherent howls for the head of the Gungan on a pike and rather graphic descriptions of what she would do to them if they didn't let her go, none of which were anatomically possible, they managed to take her to a cordoned off room.

 

With that bit of excitement over, nervous laugher could be heard over the murmurs of the crowd. The dignity of the evening might have been ruined, but there was an open bar and a practically endless supply of food, so it wasn't a complete waste of an evening. Palpatine stood where he had been before, trying to decide if, in retrospect, it would have been worth just letting Binks ruin his clothes. In the end, he decided this was at least more entertaining. Besides it wasn't like his dark robes would really show the crimson-colored stains the lighter fabrics would.

 

"A rather accident prone individual," a baritone voice said from behind Palpatine.

 

Turning the Chancellor found the speaker to be holding out a linen handkerchief. Nodding in thanks, Palpatine took the offered fabric and gently dried his face before appraising his benefactor. The man wasn't particularly tall or muscled, but he did have the distinction of possessing the most vibrantly red hair Palpatine had ever seen, though slicked back in neat comb. Normally, Palpatine would have given his thanks, perhaps as sincere as he would have the whole night, and moved on. There was something about this man that intrigued the Chancellor, however, something like the barest resemblance of a tug. Never one to ignore the eddies of the Force, however slight, he responded. "Though I fear he isn't liable to have the distinction of being invited to one of these events in the near future."

 

"He didn't have the distinction this time," his voice held a trace of amusement.

 

"Oh?"

 

"I believe he was brought by Senator Amidala, of her own accord," the unknown man explained.

 

"I must confess not being particularly surprised," Palpatine put on an amiable grin. This was truly his element, not the venue, but simple talking. He could put others at ease with such little effort, and the nudge he had gotten from the Force made him want to know more about the man who caused it. Step one was getting a name. "I would introduce myself, but I'm afraid it would be an act of futility. I fear I've lost the anonymity I once held as Senator."

 

The amusement lighting his companion's eyes grew chagrined. "My apologies, Chancellor." He bowed slightly,  "Ardagh Jade; I have the rather dubious, at least at this point, distinction of being Senator Lawson's cousin. I'm also head of the ministry of finance on our world."

 

"She's clearly had a stressful day," Palpatine said diplomatically. His physical appraisal over, the Chancellor peered into the arcane and what he found was . . . enlightening.  This man had a slight connection to the Force. Not enough to be trained, at least not with any potential to grow past child-like applications, but enough to notice, should one look. What that had to do with the pull, he had no idea, but it bore further scrutiny. Just as Palpatine was about to continue his interrogation, the lithe figure of Naboo's Senator walked up to the conversing pair, looking embarrassed.

 

"I should probably have learned my lesson by now about brining Jar Jar along to these things." She mumbled softly.

 

 _Yes, you should. Now leave us alone_. "It's not your fault, my dear." He pretended to soothe. "Mistakes do happen to the best of us."

 

Amidala, with all the naïveté of an idealist, took his words at face value and smiled shyly. Taking the opportunity to bow out, Minister Jade spoke up. "I'll let the two of you catch up. As the only representative of my family left, I'd better try and smooth over whatever feathers my cousin has ruffled."

 

Gallantly acknowledging the man's new duties, Palpatine had little choice but to let him leave. "Of course, give my best regards to Senator Lawson when you see her next."

 

"And mine as well," Amidala said, "along with my sincere apologies."

 

Jade agreed, the amused gleam back in his eyes as he mingled with the other elite. Palpatine conversed with former Queen with the barest fraction of his attention. The focus followed the Finance Minister throughout the penthouse, though he was unable to come up with a reasonable excuse to reestablish their earlier conversation. It was of little consequence, he had a name, a planet, and a career. He has done a lot with less. He would find why the force had led him to notice this particular man in time, but he was sure of one thing. _We shall meet again, Minister Jade_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know just about everyone on here has their own version of how Palpatine finds Mara Jade, so I added another one to the pile. I really don't know why, but I'm kind of liking putting Palpatine in these awkward situations. First with the Caliph in Chapter 2 and now Jar Jar Binks in this. It's fun to poke the homicidal dictator when he can't just go and kill people. 
> 
> Speaking of dictators, I'm considering turning this story into a series of Palpatine-centered vignettes spanning more than just the Clone Wars. I've got some ideas for Post-Empire Palpatine, as Emperor, that I'd like to do. I could expand on the Isard line from Chapter 5, and we know Palpatine doesn't take Mara Jade until the Empire exists, so that would fall in that category, too. Even though I'm starting to throw in a little more of my own story to fill in the gaps, I'm still trying to keep it as canon compliant as possible. I also have a few ideas for bringing in Thrawn to meet Palpatine.
> 
> If I do change the direction of the story, I'll probably end up jumping around in the timeline more. If I write a Clone Wars chapter after I do an Empire one, it would be a lot of trouble to re-arrange the chapters to be chronological. I guess my previously useless habit of including the date will come in handy after all!


	7. Loose Ends

**Chancellor Office, Coruscant; 20 BBY**

 

A lazy puff of dichromatic pink and orange wafted along the skyline, momentarily obscuring the rising sun. It cast the room in a penumbra. Today was an important day. That, in itself, applied to most days, at least for some beings. Given the diffusion of life throughout the galaxy, there were pretty good odds that every single day held meaning for _someone_. What made it worthy to note lay in its importance to himself, and wasn't that all that really mattered, in the end?

 

It had been two years, two long and productive years. Years divided by separation and longing, creeper vines of infatuation infecting the compassion they had been destined for. Captain Panaka had been so very useful in passing along the jewel in his masterpiece. Once wouldn't think romance would play much of a role in his schemes, but those beings just didn't have the _creativity_ to appreciate the detrimental effects a relationship could have. She, an anti-war senator trying to weigh her conscious against a husband leading the very troops into battle; troops, as it were, that she opposed funding. The boy, trying to come to grips with his need for companionship while hiding his relationship from the very people he called _friends_. No, some people just didn't see the bitter truth that to open yourself to another invited weakness, chinks to be exploited, and exploit them he did.

 

Serpent-cold eyes scanned the skyline, a myriad of angular buildings and a constant flow of traffic. Coruscant was truly the metropolis of the galaxy, a bustling world full of life. On the surface, one saw the affluent and privileged. That's what drew people here, like a honeyed barb, promising opportunity. Untold numbers of beings flocked here for a life they didn't think they could achieve on other planets. There was an ancient saying that wishes never pan out in an expected manner, that once should show caution before voicing one's desires, lest they come true.

 

The Shadow smirked as the warm orange sky bled to a deep red, another night of suffering for the denizens of the lower levels. The very ones that were drawn to this world through hope often found themselves trapped in squalor, eking out a miserable existence on scraps. True, he found many willing pawns down in the dredges, not that he ever ventured there personally, but it was a two-edged sword. While they provided a willing and able pool of the disenfranchised, it also offered that to anyone. With Maul's resurrection and failed insurrection, he knew the criminals had been neglected for far too long. After all, what good strategist pitted juggernauts against one another, but let a lowly viper sink it's fangs into one's heel? No, it was long past time for the sewers to be purged and he knew just the man to do it.

 

A pale sienna light pulsed on the arm of his chair—his throne—indicating his guest was waiting for him. A slender finger lightly touched the pulse to activate the comm. "Send the Admiral in, my dear."

 

The doors to his anteroom slid apart, the illuminated outer hallway bathed the office in white light. Without turning from the skyline, he could see in his mind's eye the deep bow Sly Moore gave, regardless of whether she was being directly watched, before she left the Admiral in the stateroom. The red of evening was gone, replaced by the purplish haze of twilight. The only illumination in the room itself was the numerous buttons and dials that resided in arms of his chair, carefully covered by his sleeve.

 

"Chancellor," his aristocratic voice held a heavy Eriadian accent, while still projecting an air of emotionless demeanor that the subject of his greeting approved of. Of course, given the events of the past few days, the speaker knew he was most likely here for a reprimand. After all, he had failed to deliver on his assigned task.

 

"Wilhuff," Palpatine drawled, "please come in. Sit."

 

The militarist Admiral walked stiffly over to one of the plush seats arrayed before the Chancellor's desk. The man had a sharp mind for military tactics, but he wasn't very flexible. Victory had to be absolute, or it may as well be failure to Tarkin. Palpatine learned early on that one couldn't move through life with rigid plans. The best ones provided favorable outcomes regardless of success or failure. Still, he doubted the man before him could appreciate that.

 

"I had a rather fascinating conversation with Anakin Skywalker regarding his Padawan this evening." He let the sentence hang.

 

Tarkin all but bristled at the idea. "I assure you, Chancellor—"

 

"—Assurances are not needed, my friend. It seems Padawan Tano has elected to resign from the Jedi Order."

 

The Admiral just stared. He'd expected at least some level of anger, but the Chancellor seemed . . . content? The man might be the best chance for the future of the Galaxy, but he had some of the oddest reactions. News of otherwise devastating losses taken as nothing but a delay in victory, word of resounding success tempered with caution. The man had ice in his veins. Idly, Tarkin wondered what such a person would do in command of a ship. "Sir?"

 

"That, however, isn't the purpose of our little meeting." Palpatine said smoothly, "I will be paying a visit to our newly imprisoned Jedi this evening. I'd like you to ensure that any surveillance will be . . . otherwise occupied during that time."

 

"Your Excellency, is that advisable, the prisoner is dangerous. Surely her crimes are testament to that. I must advise against such a meeting, for your own safety."

 

"I thank you for your concern, but I must insist." Palpatine smiled. It wasn't the politician's smile he used to put others at ease, this one was cold. It didn't even come close to his eyes. It made his face seem mask-like. "She and I should speak before the interrogations begin."

 

"Of course, I will make arrangements."

 

* * *

 

 

**Detention Cell 38, Block 11**

 

_Traitor . . ._

 

She heard the word echo inside her head, much as it would have if spoken aloud in her sparse cell. Why couldn't they understand? The Jedi were never meant to be fighters, frontline brawlers, fodder for a political war of ideologies. They call her a traitor, when they move ships and soldiers around like a game to protect weapons factories and shipyards? What happened to defending peace?

 

The prisoner heard the soft click of military-issue boots and the soft rustle of clothing at the far end of the hall. She glanced up as the noise stopped at her cell door. It didn't come as a surprise when, a moment later, her cell door slid open. What did come as a shock was who her visitor turned out to be.

 

"I must confess, my dear, I never imagined you would have it within you to commit such egregious . . . actions against the Jedi."

 

Barriss Offee gave a snort of derision, it wasn't like her situation could get much worse. "And what would you know of what's in me, Chancellor?"

 

Chancellor Palpatine appraised the imprisoned Padawan for a moment before turning to his pair of escort guards. In a voice that dropped in pitch, that dripped with authority, he gave a command that left Offee confused. "Leave us."

 

Pausing, as if wanting to refuse to leave the most important being in the Republic alone with a known terrorist, they nevertheless inclined their helmets and left the pair alone. Turning back to the shackled Jedi, the Chancellor wore a grandfatherly smile. "I pride myself on being a judge of character, my dear, of knowing what lies in the hearts of others."

 

"Yet here we are, though I'm at a loss as to the purpose of your visit." Barriss shrugged, "I somehow doubt many of the incarcerated are so graced."

Descending into the pit of the cell, the Chancellor took a seat across from Barriss. "No," he admitted, tilting his head, "You gave quite an impassioned speech the other day."

 

"Nothing you agree with or approve of, I'm sure. Perhaps you're a victim of circumstance, but you're just as guilty as the Jedi, in the end."

 

A ghost of a smirk lighted the corner of Palpatine's mouth. "You would have made an intriguing politician. Firebrands can come from the most humble of backgrounds."

 

"Maybe I'll suggest it as part of my parole."

 

Palpatine gave a negligent wave of his hand. "An unlikely turn of events, given your accused crimes."

 

Barriss was starting to get annoyed with the Chancellor's aloof words, it was time he was reminded of just what she was capable of. "Crimes that include murder—in this very facility, no less." She gave an open-palmed gesture to the statesman before her, "Yet you willingly put yourself in my cell, alone. What makes you think I wouldn't do the same to you?"

 

"Other than the retribution the Republic would exact?"

 

"It's not as if my future prospects would get any worse, the Jedi would never sanction torture." She considered it, "I could cripple the war effort here and now."

 

Instead of flustering the Chancellor, this line of thought only seemed to bring out the coldly rational portion of the man. "One would presume that a living hostage would be more advantageous than a martyred corpse." He gave a small shrug before continuing, "Still, this academic discussion isn't the purpose of my visit, however engaging a young lady you are."

 

"Academic? You doubt my resolve?"

 

"Oh no, on the contrary, I think you've shown remarkable dedication to your position." Something slithered behind the icy-blue eyes of the Naboo noble, like a distant firelight. "You even deceived the Jedi Council, not an insignificant feat."

 

The conversation was starting to become surreal. Barriss found herself unable to figure out if the Chancellor was seriously complimenting her deception, or this entire event was an isolation-induced hallucination. Despite this, she had learned early on in her combat training that, when on unsure ground, it's best to keep moving forward, lest it give way beneath her feet. "The Jedi are blinded by the war, it wasn't particularly difficult. They wanted a simple explanation, so I gave them one."

 

"You're quite perceptive for someone so young, no doubt influence from your master?"

 

"Master Unduli knew nothing about this."

 

Palpatine's eyes sharpened, focused, as if a predator spotting a vulnerable prey. It was a look politicians and lawyers got when they heard a flaw in an opposing argument. "Ah, but is she your _only_ master?"

 

The imprisoned Padawan just frowned, not understanding the question. "What are you asking?"

 

"Such a talented girl, no doubt others have noticed your potential. Perhaps even a former Jedi Master? Tell me, have you ever met Count Dooku?"

 

Bariss gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Is that a roundabout way of asking if I'm a Separatist?"

 

The penetrating gaze in the Chancellor's eyes never left. "I couldn't care less what you call yourself. I am asking if you've ever met personally with the Count, he does have a soft spot for the young and impressionable, women especially. With such potential, who wouldn't want to help guide you?"

 

"And why do you care?"

 

Palpatine rose, his suddenly towering form cast a shadow over Barriss. "Let's just say I have a vested interest in your answer." He paused a few seconds to wait for a response, but the former Jedi merely looked numbly up, unsure as to the purpose of this line of questioning, much less why the Republic's Supreme Chancellor would be asking her personally. When it was clear she wasn't going to respond, the tone he had use with the guards like a whiplash, practically a snarl from the normally docile politician. "Answer me!"

 

Barriss unconsciously flinched at the shout. "No—no, I've never met him."

 

Like a switch was thrown, the affable smile was back in place, and he took his seat again. "Excellent, I'm glad we could clear that up, my dear." Adjusting the fall of his robe, Palpatine raised a slender finger. "You are wrong about one thing, though," he said softly, pointing it at her, "I do agree with what you said at the trial."

 

"You—what?" Barriss gapped at the Chancellor, he couldn't possibly mean what he was saying, especially not with security cameras recording her cell.

 

"No, I'm afraid the security recorder for our little meeting has been disabled," he leaned back, "as I am sure you could fathom the implications of what I'm saying, should they ever leave this room."

 

Given the turns of this conversation, Barriss hesitated before answering. "What makes you think I won't tell anyone?"

 

The Chancellor gave her a patronizing smile. "Apart from no one believing you?"

 

Her eyes narrowed to cerulean slits. "You _agree_ with _me_?"

 

"I've gone to considerable effort to make your accusations true. Never fear, the Jedi, all of them, will be on trial soon enough." The Chancellor's smile morphed into a vicious smirk. "And for their part in this little war of mine, they will be executed. Every last one."

 

Barriss couldn't keep the look of shocked horror off her face. "What are you talking about?"

 

"You should know, you said it yourself already." Palpatine raised one of his hands, loosely clutched into a fist and the fallen Padawan felt her windpipe constrict. "The Jedi are fighting for the dark side; fighting for me. And it is only a matter of time before I tear down the rotten remains of this . . . _Republic_."

 

Struggling to breath, she didn't even see the Chancellor move. He seemingly appeared in front of her, his bony hand adding physical pressure to the Force's grip on her throat. His careworn face inches from her, Barriss could see the yellow of his eyes glowing brightly in the darkness of her cell. The hand not choking her trailed gently along the side of her face.

 

"You needn't worry, my dear, I have no intention of killing you. I merely had to ascertain whether Dooku was overstepping his station, again." He released the pressure on her windpipe, letting her limp body slump down, her head jerked up from the presence of his clawed hand still in place.

 

She tried to get up, but his arm held her in place, strong and ironclad, not the soft arms of a politician. "You'll . . . never . . . succeed."

 

"I've yet to decide if Republic Intelligence will tie you to the Separatists," Palpatine started conversantly. "There are obvious benefits to implying that Dooku can reach into the Temple itself, but having a Jedi turning of her own will fit rather nicely in with the narrative of the Jedi not being able to be trusted." He trailed off, as if lost in thought, before snapping back to her eyes. "But that's my dilemma. You will have other, more pressing, concerns."

 

With his free hand, the Chancellor slipped inside his robes to withdraw a tiny syringe filled with a pale green liquid. "This," he said, holding the needle up between them, "is a potent amnesiac laced with a sedative. Apart from a rather harsh migraine side-effect, the past twelve hours will be a complete blur."

 

Without warning, he used his thumb to tilt her head and jabbed it just below her jawline. The drug felt like ice water entering her veins, a quick numbness spread throughout her body. Now her complete weight was resting on the Chancellor's hand around her neck, but she couldn't even struggle to breathe. Thankfully, Palpatine relinquished his hold, kneeling as he lowered her down to lie on the bench that doubled as a bunk.

 

Her vision was starting to blur, but she could see the golden glow of his eyes were back to a vibrant blue, as if they were never there at all. He considered the Padawan. "Pleasant dreams, my dear." He leaned over and gently brushed his thin, bloodless lips over her forehead, as a parent might to a sleeping child.

 

Giving a pitying glance towards her disheveled clothing, Palpatine's face naturally formed a sneer. "I suppose red just isn't your color," he chuckled as the syringe were capped and returned to the layered folds of his robes. A small flick of movement and he was ascending the steps. The guards who had escorted him in were easy enough to influence. By the time the Chancellor had departed, the pair would have sworn on their oaths to the Republic that they spent the entire day in the security booth. Of course the footage from the facilities databanks would be corrupted, should anyone think to examine them, but no one would.

 

The dark crimson airspeeder looked pitch black in the night, its surfaces reflected the world-city's lights like polished obsidian. Palpatine's private airspeeder was well armored and armed, the fair bluish haze of a force field—only readily visible to occupants—acted as a partial wind buffer. The last time the Chancellor had piloted this craft had been shortly after a terrorist attack on the Coruscant Administrative Sector, he'd taken Senators Organa and Amidala on a tour of the carnage. This particular jaunt might not have been as pleasant as that one, but it had been one he couldn't trust outsourcing. The girl was quite fortunate Dooku had not recruited her, for she wouldn't have gotten off so easily if he had. So, too, was the Count lucky. After the debacle with his assassin, and his failure to eliminate her, Sidious was not going to be so lenient if he had tried to ascertain a new disciple.

 

It was true that the proposition of poisoning the girl had been considered, but that would have caused more problems than it solved. Alive, she was a simple traitor to the Republic; dead, she was a martyr. Of course, one needn't be living to be thought alive, and he hadn't been entirely truthful about the injection. There was no amnesiac, just a simple sedative. One was less likely to fight the effects if they believed they'd wake up again.

 

Behind him, the Republic military base exploded.

 

* * *

 

**Excerpt from an Op-Ed Published in the Coruscanti Times**

 

In light of recent events, televised for the entire galaxy to witness, can we continue to ignore the white bantha in the room? We're all thinking it, I'm just giving voice to the words that are already there in the common rooms and dinner tables of citizens across the Republic: can the Jedi be trusted? Don't misunderstand me, I'm not advocating for a dissolution of the Order, and am by no means a Separatist, but time and again we see Jedi upon Jedi turning on us. Whether it be the nearly disastrous campaign on Umbara, where General Pong Krell practically gave the planet to Dooku's forces or the Temple bombing by the traitorous Barriss Offee, there is one vein of commonality that connects them: treason. That is not to say that Jedi are more susceptible to it than others, but why do we continue to hold them up on aurodium pedestals? One fact that cannot be disputed is the disproportionate damage Jedi and former Jedi cause when they turn on us.

 

That statement is sure to incite the Jedi protectors in the media, but my voice is not alone in this. The Senate has reportedly scheduled a session to listed to a bill that would place the Jedi Order under the office of the Supreme Chancellor, and this writer couldn't feel more heartened by that news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has been nearly finished for a while, I just couldn't decide how I wanted it to end. I had wanted it to stay as canon as possible, but with the whole Legends thing, I guess it's only relative at this point. Unless they continue to write Legend stories, then there's never going to be a final resolution to inconsistencies like Barriss Offee between the show and the books.


	8. Faustian Bargain

**Ancestral Palace of the Dooku Family, Serenno; 31 BBY**

 

He said he would come and listen, that was the only guarantee given. The being on the other end of the transmission, most likely humanoid, though it was difficult to tell with the hood, had only smiled faintly and ended it. So he was waiting, as promised, on a world that was both familiar and foreign. Hooded lids cast the russet eyes in shadow, made darker by the twilight. Silver hair, slicked back by the drizzle, marked the man as distinguished. His was a face known well by the upper echelon of Republic politics, more for his outspoken stances and reputation than any career in governance. Still, he wasn't some soft bureaucrat. The man wore his sixty-nine years better than most, still lean and athletic, which came in particularly useful as he paced under the ornate arch of the abandoned Serenno palace behind him.

 

 _Was this a mistake?_ He asked himself. Things had certainly changed from his youth. The concept of meeting his contact would have been reprehensible, lest it be to wield a righteous blade against him, but, oh, how things have changed. When had it happened? When was the first crack in his resolve? Naboo? No, he had long decided that there was little hope of saving the Republic then, it was already in free-fall. Galidraan? That certainly exacerbated it, but, deep in his heart, he already had doubts. Maybe it had always been there, scratching the walls even as Master Yoda pontificated on the virtues he would one day be demanded to embody.

 

The rain began to come more heavily, as if the world itself cried for its fallen Jedi. Wait, 'fallen?' When did he see himself like that? He was only here to talk, to listen, nothing else. He may doubt the integrity of the Republic, but his own motives were pure and virtuous. He wasn't fallen. No.

 

_Then why are you here at all?_

 

The question echoed inside his own head. So much time was spent there now he felt more at home there than in any tangible locale. The voice that asked wasn't his own, however, but belonged to the Republic's Chancellor, one of the few honest politicians out there. With the rain now creating sheets of water, the man retreated further under the arch. Twilight had faded into nightfall and the temperature of the temperate forest was dropping rapidly.

 

It was time, his contact was due. Imminent as the meeting was, the question remained. Was he truly here to listen? Why should he? After all, it wouldn't be as if he owed his contact any honesty. He could just as easily kill as listen, and no one would be the wiser. Would that be the right thing to do? All his life in the Order told him the man he was meeting was the embodiment of evil. Wasn't it his duty to fight evil?

 

_Then why haven't you drawn your blade?_

 

That voice again, Palpatine's voice. Quietly reasonable and brutally honest. He could feel the resolve slip from his grasp. He couldn't make a decision in the isolation of self, and time was running out.

 

There. Out on the edge of the boreal forest a cloaked humanoid strode into the torrent of water. The figure was short for a human, but not overly so. The drooping hood would have hidden the face even if it had been midday. Coming to a stop just outside the arch's protective overhand, the hood lifted, gleaming ochre eyes and face cast in darkness make him seem a creature of superstitious myth than flesh and blood, a demon of legend come to claim the souls of the weak and wavering. The soft voice, when it came from the void under the cloak, was horribly distorted by the crashing water around it.

 

"That which is revered has a price, but discourse alone is gratis, Master Dooku. You've sought me out for this and I come without malice."

 

With that, the reality of the situation was brought into sharp relief to the Jedi Master. Until now, he had held a certain detachment from himself, but it could no longer be denied or ignored. A miasma of dark energy wafted off the Sith, like death off a reaper. What should he do? Even now, on the precipice, he could feel the Jedi mentality fight for control, to draw his lightsaber and cut down the man in front of him for who he was, not what he'd done. Was that true justice?

 

_Was that even right?_

 

The Sith answered the mental question as if it had been spoken aloud, still being soaked in the storm. "Would you murder for nothing more than a difference in philosophy? I have not come to fight, but to talk. Surely you would not initiate violence on philosophic bigotry alone."

 

The words were cultured and reasonable, Dooku could feel the lack of hostile intent. Of course, how much did that really mean? He could feel the Sith's power, and yet the entirety of the Jedi Order hadn't realized they still existed until Naboo. He could be hiding his own intentions even as he drew back a blade for the killing stroke. Still, it would accomplish nothing to stay silent. "You seem very interested in meeting me," Dooku called over the rain, "I doubt you would have come for many other Jedi."

 

The Sith finally joined Dooku under the arch. The robe must have been Zeyd-cloth, given how quickly it shed the water and still left the wearer dry underneath. Tilting his head to one side, as if considering Dooku's implicit question, the auriferous eyes seemed to flash in the night, like a feral cat on the edge of firelight. "No, only you."

 

"Why?"

 

"That's the question, isn't it?" Dooku could hear the smile in the other's voice, "Why you over everyone else? Because you're special, you're unique. A shining lantern of the Force in the night, yes, but one willing to coexist with the dark for the betterment of all."

 

Dooku wasn't sure what to say, it sounded so . . . unassuming, not at all the self-aggrandizement found in the Sith of ancient history. Could he be trusted?

 

"But surely you don't wish to discuss everything out here, this is, after all, such a lovely house," the Sith said, walking up to the grandiose double doors.

 

His voice sounded vaguely familiar, but Dooku couldn't think clearly enough to pin it down. Instead, he asked what had been on his mind since he had heard the location of the meeting place, "And why, pray tell, are we here?"

 

"Surely, you know your personal history. Scion of this planet, your ancestors have long held positions of aristocracy here."

 

"And?"

 

"This was the ancestral home of your family. Long have the Counts of Serenno held back the greed and pettiness of those who would exploit the weak and underprivileged, adamant aggressors against avarice," he said, waving his hand over the electronic lock, parting the doors with a minimal exertion and stepping though the threshold, "it is that mentality that I wish to tap."

 

Dooku stopped at the doors. He could feel that no matter what happened, this would be a pivotal moment in history, personal and galactic in scale. Could he listen to the siren song of the devil and not be swayed? Or was he already? He hadn't killed the Sith, only asked questions. Was his soul already hooked? Razor fingers of darkness pulling him in. Shouldn't he fight? Dooku knew he had been told to once, but that voice was muted, distant and hollow. Oh, how he wanted to follow, but not to be the avenging angel of light, but an audience to night.

 

From within the black great room, a single bony hand extended from the sheer darkness and the Sith's silken voice cut though the gloom. "You'll never fall if you willingly go to understand. Listening is not a crime, merely an act. Decide, my friend, for the act of choice is something Jedi are discouraged to do. I offer that, a choice. Enter or flee, accept or kill, it matters not in the grand scheme, but you must choose."

 

A heartbeat pause later, Dooku did.

 

* * *

 

The grand entrance hall was, understandably, cast in near-complete darkness. Dooku could barely make out the other's cloaked silhouette moving amongst the shadows, leading Dooku further inside. Despite his willingness to listen to the Sith, Dooku still waged an internal struggle if he should ally himself with the Dark Lord.

 

"You have always been unique, my friend," the Sith spoke out as he entered a large drawing room, "more so by your drive to change the way things are than your Force abilities. You were born to privilege that many would kill for; what some have killed for. Independently wealthy, physically fit, and a connection to the Force that rivals the most powerful of practitioners. You could easily live out your life in comfort, using the corrupt system to your benefit, but you do not."

 

Gliding up to the hearth, the Sith snapped his fingers, igniting the bone-white logs within. The sudden golden light burned Dooku's eyes briefly.

 

"Eloquent words, flattery even, but nothing substantive. I don't even know your name, yet you seem to know much about me," Dooku challenged.

 

Turning to the Jedi Master, the Sith was backlit by the fire, casting his entire figure in a sheer black, save for his eyes, that shone a terrible sulfurous yellow. "I am known by many names, some you may even have heard before, but you're not interested in the facades of the profane, the masks we wear to please the masses. I am Darth Sidious, the last living Dark Lord of the Sith," Sidious tilted his head again, "does the name truly give you anything? After all, what's in a name, but what others place on it? I could claim to be anyone, even the Chancellor of the Republic, and you would be forced to take my word on the matter."

 

Dooku let out a short laugh. "The higher the claim, the more burden of proof required. A name is more to know than what to call you. Anonymity is detrimental to a meeting of minds where we are to be honest with one another, don't you think?"

 

"I've found anonymity often enables a being's true heart to be shown. What they do when others don't know is . . . enlightening."

 

"While I cannot deny such a statement, on the whole, having one's name attached to their position can show what they stand for, not just their heart."

 

"Just so, but now you have a name and more. By my own admission, I am the last of my Order; vulnerable, weaponless, and alone on your homeworld." Sidious spread his floor-length sleeves, "Have you decided what you will do?"

 

Keeping his face from showing the conflict within, Dooku took one of the two wing-backed lounges by the grate. "Before I heard what you have to say? That would be somewhat presumptuous. Please, sit."

 

The buffeting heat had dried Sidious' cloak, now visibly a deep violet, just barely a shade above black. Carefully taking the opposite seat, the hood once again prevented Dooku from seeing more than the iridescent eyes. It was starting to trouble him. It was all so innocuously done, but it was also unnatural to have someone stay hidden in plain sight, as if the darkness itself conspired to his whim.

 

"You and I share a similar background," Sidious began, "nobility and aristocracy are not very far removed from one another."

 

Dooku started as he heard a soft scrapping sound from the darkness surrounding the firelight. A large, ornate table slide between the two chairs. Perched atop was a Dejarik board of ancient design. Instead of holographic pieces, they were physical ones cast in Aurodium and Electrum, very possibly the most costly set Dooku had ever laid eyes on, and he had seen some elaborate ones in his day. Dooku raised one eyebrow in question.

 

"Perhaps you'll indulge me, I so rarely play anymore and it is such a beautiful set. Antiques hold a special appeal to me," Sidious shrugged as he mentally pushed his Electrum Ng'ok forward.

 

Reaching out, uncomfortable using the Force in something so mundane as moving Dejarik pieces, Dooku slid his Aurodium M'onnok to meet Sidious' opening. "You've paid me several compliments this evening, but have yet to say what exactly you want from me."

 

"No, I haven't."

 

A Molator advanced. Dooku waited a beat for Sidious to continue, but was greeted with silence, the pensive Sith staring at the ornate tabletop board. Mildly irritated by the mercurial turn of the conversation, Dooku frowned. "Will you?"

 

"Eventually," the Sith shrugged, a pedestrian gesture meant to set others at ease, "but why should I, when you still consider killing me? No matter what I say, such a mindset will have you distrust my words out of hand."

 

Sated with the response, though not as much with the answer, Dooku moved his M'onnok to attack the Molator. A built-in computer console displayed the result and the Molator was pushed to the adjacent square. "Should I trust you? I somehow doubt it would be out of character for someone like you to lie."

 

"We all lie, Master Dooku, do we not?"

 

"Perhaps, but that has nothing to do with your own trustworthiness in this endeavor." Dooku watched as an Electrum Ghhhk took the Dooku's M'onnok out of the game before sliding his own Molator into the center.

 

"What am I to say to that? You ask someone you suspect a liar if they tell the truth? Whether I am or not, the answer remains the same," Sidious said as he folded his hands over the armrests and telekinetically moved another Electrum token.

 

Dooku's gaze bore into the one opposite him, idly noticing that the glow of the eyes had vanished. "Then it would seem we are at an impasse. You refuse to discuss your proposition because you feel I won't trust you, and I won't trust you unless you're willing to discuss your proposition."

 

"Clearly, one of us must yield, but it is not surprising. You have a great deal of pride, my friend. You are right in feeling it, for your abilities justify it, but it serves no purpose here, between _us_."

 

_Pride it is that blinds you. Your flaw, pride is . . ._

 

The words echoed in Dooku's mind, like a dream of a dream. Yoda had said them, decades ago, not long after Lorian Nod had been expelled from the Order. He had always balked at the words, as his was not pride, but assurance in his own ability and justness. Yet the Sith did have a point, Dooku had sought him out, and now it was he who stood in his own way. As he realized this, he could feel the pressure give way, it was dogma that powered his reluctance here, not true caution. The Republic needed to be taken down to its roots, so it could be rebuilt on a new foundation, and this man was the one in the position to do just that.

 

"The Republic is rotten," Dooku said, at last. "Corruption and avarice have dissolved the pillars that once made it a bastion of order." Once he started, the words flowed like a tsunami, forceful and pure. "There's nothing left to protect, but the Jedi and the Senate refuse to relinquish the powers they've grabbed onto for fear of what could happen should there be a genuine call for change. The inertia of the bureaucracy fights against anyone trying to bring honesty and order to the chaos."

 

"And you want my help to build this utopia you desire, a paragon of just government?" Sidious asked innocently, which was instantly rendered unsettling by the twinkle of his shining eyes.

 

Glancing down, Dooku saw that his K'lor'slug was just taken. "You've already been doing it, haven't you? Yinchorr? Eriadu? Naboo? You cannot deny the hand of the Sith in at least one of them, perhaps all three."

 

After a pregnant pause, Sidious leaned forward. The barest hook of his nose peeking from the shadows, leaning as if to impart a secret of sorts. "And what if I _was_ responsible?" He whispered, silken voice practically hissing the last word out. "Would it change why you're here?"

 

Dooku opened his mouth, but whatever his response would have been was preempted by the Dark Lord. "You're not here to enlist my aid in trying to reform the Republic, you could do that with countless others. If you wanted to sow dissent, you could do that with your own wealth and connections." Without glancing down, one of the Electrum pieces slid to a new position. "So spare me the speeches, save the semantic drivel, stop _lying_ to me and tell me why you wanted _me_. Tell me what _I_ can offer you that _none_ of the others can. Tell me why _you're_ here, Master Dooku."

 

Not even noticing that he had lost the game, the former Jedi Master suppressed a grimace. He had admitted it to the Chancellor, but to actually say the words now, before the one being in existence who could grant his desires felt terrifying and exhilarating all at once. "I want to learn of the dark side."

 

This wasn't quite how the meeting was supposed to have gone, in Dooku's eyes. He still knew nothing about the Sith he wanted to learn from, he was supposed to at least see his face before telling him of the secret desires the ex-Jedi harbored. What was he to do now? The silence was deafening. The cloaked Sith leaned back, as if relaxing in the face of this revelation, as if he already knew what Dooku was going to say. "Good," he hummed. "By admitting your desires, you move one step closer to achieving them."

 

The Serenno native shook his head. "So you know what I want from you, but what is it you want of me? I doubt you make it a habit of meeting Jedi like this." Dooku narrowed his eyes, "what do you want of _me?_ "

 

His cloaked companion appraised the suspicious man before him. Sidious' shoulders shrugged nonchalantly. "We live in a dangerous galaxy, Count," Dooku's cheek twitched at the use of the title he was planning to reclaim, "and I'm always eager to make friends."

 

"More dissemination?" Dooku accused, "Now who is lying?"

 

"Perhaps a few lies of omission," Sidious quipped.

 

The words sunk in and Dooku's world collapsed in on itself. He had heard those words before, spoken to him by the last person he ever imagined could be hiding such a magnitude of deceit. " _Lies of omission_ ," he breathed, his conscious mind willing it to be a coincidence.

 

"Just a few," the Sith chuckled, reaching up to lower his cowl. Sidious'—no, Palpatine's smile was lit by the flickering firelight. Dooku studied the face, as if he had never seen it before. In some ways, he hadn't. There was something disturbing to see the noble face of the Chancellor offset by citrine eyes instead of his watery blue ones. To know that he had been undermining the Republic, while simultaneously being nominated to lead it. It was simply unbelievable.

 

"There were so many times I wanted to tell you, my friend, but I thought this revelation would be more appropriate in a more . . . private setting." He swept out of the chair and walked to the hearth, watching the waning flames consume the wood.

 

Dooku, still in shock, lurched to his feet and grabbed hold of his curved lightsaber.

 

"Really? After all we discussed you're considering _that?_ " Palpatine hadn't even turned. He seemed to know, despite there being no way for him to have known what Dooku had done. Looking over his cloaked shoulder, Palpatine continued. "You wished to ally with Palpatine and Sidious separately, why does our being the same person affect your desires?"

 

He was right. What did it matter? _In fact, this made an alliance easier_ , Dooku thought suddenly. He let go of his lightsaber, let it fall to the plush rug with a dull thud. No sooner did it hit the ground, than it was wrenched into the air, landing squarely in Sidious' pale hands.

 

"A lightsaber is truly a work of art, an expression of the user," Palpatine ran his soft fingers over the polished hilt, the rubberized grip. "You have a choice, my friend, and that's exactly what I offered you before you saw my face. You have the opportunity to do what the Jedi would not, you can become the agent of change that facilitates an era of peace unlike anything the galaxy has ever seen."

 

Sidious walked over to the older man and pushed the unlit blade into his hand. "Or you can be an agent of the reactionary corruption that would, if they knew who I truly was, hail you as a hero for cutting me asunder."

 

Dooku looked from the Chancellor's eyes, which had miraculously reverted to an icy azure, to his lightsaber, and it was no choice at all. Moving carefully down to one knee, he bowed his head. "I will do as you command . . . _Master_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got to admit that I'm surprised there aren't more stories about Dooku finding out who Sidious really was The part about 'lies of omission' appeared in the novel Star Wars: Darth Plagueis by James Luceno. Dooku asking, facetiously, if Palpatine has been lying to him and Palpatine responds with "perhaps a few lies of omission."
> 
> Not too much else I can think of, the title of the chapter is kind of obvious.


End file.
